


New Rules

by springburn



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Companionship, Description Of Domestic Abuse, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Trust, Love, Malcolm Tucker Uses Bad Language, Mending Hearts, New Discoveries, New Horizons, New Lives, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Issues, Slow Burn, broken relationships, coming together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-10-12 09:09:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 106,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17464619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springburn/pseuds/springburn
Summary: A DoSaC party is in full swing. One of many, nothing new. The music throbbing in the background is particularly poignant to one solitary party goer.Meanwhile, equally solitary, Malcolm is circulating...





	1. New Rules

**Author's Note:**

> In November 2015 Peter gave an interview to Spinoff in New Zealand. In it he referred specifically to the scene in Series Three of TTOI after Malcolm's forced resignation. 
> 
> In response to a question about Malcolm's character and motivation he said this.....
> 
>  
> 
> _"Yeah, he’s got a job to do and he’s dealing with all of these idiots. The other thing about Malcolm that you’re not seeing is that’s only a little slice of his day; he’s going to another department and having to fight fires there. There are idiots in all kinds of departments and all corners of the party that have to be dealt with all day long and long into the night. So he’s inevitably going to burn out. But he was a wonderful, wonderful character. And Armando did such subtle things with him. If you watch it very carefully there’s a scene towards the end where he’s forced to resign and he’s at home, but he has a friend with him who he chats to, and the friend’s a rather forlorn and whey-faced figure. What it clearly is, to those who would recognise such a thing, is an Alcoholics Anonymous buddy. Clearly Malcolm is struggling with his addiction problems, and always has, and has an AA buddy to get him through the tough times. But that’s never said in the script."_
> 
>  
> 
> This reply was a real eye opener to the way Peter actually saw the character of Malcolm. It was also extremely interesting that he thought of Malcolm this way.  
> Up until now I've never really taken his words on board or included them in my stories, unless you count my _"Release"_ story, which dealt with addition to pills. 
> 
> So....in this story I'm taking Peter's words into consideration and seeing what can be done about them. It'll be a bit different to what I've written before.  
> The female character is based on a real life person (not me, I hasten to add) so it draws on true experiences, as does Malcolm's history too. 
> 
> It isn't going to be the traditional 'man meets woman, man falls for woman' story. There'll be a bit more to it than that....hopefully!! 
> 
> Hope you're along for the ride!
> 
> (The Dua Lipa track is on YouTube.) 
> 
> Many thanks to my dear friend @AsMadAsHatter for making the title picture for me.

_A typical office type party in full swing. Lots of noise and a cacophony of voices/laughter versus music. People mingling, drinking, chatting. A few jigging along to the infectious beat._

......the song playing in the background......

New Rules  
Dua Lipa

One, one, one, one, one  
Talkin' in my sleep at night  
Makin' myself crazy  
(Out of my mind, out of my mind)  
Wrote it down and read it out  
Hopin' it would save me  
(Too many times, too many times)  
My love, he makes me feel like nobody else  
Nobody else  
But my love, he doesn't love me  
So I tell myself, I tell myself  
One, don't pick up the phone  
You know he's only calling 'cause he's drunk and alone  
Two, don't let him in  
You'll have to kick him out again  
Three, don't be his friend  
You know you're gonna wake up in his bed in the morning  
And if you're under him  
You ain't getting over him  
I've got new rules, I count 'em  
I've got new rules, I count 'em  
I've gotta tell them to myself  
I've got new rules, I count 'em  
I've gotta tell them to myself  
I keep pushin' forwards  
But he keeps pullin' me backwards  
(Nowhere to turn, no way)  
(Nowhere to turn, no)  
Now I'm standing back from it  
I finally see the pattern  
(I never learn, I never learn)  
But my love, he doesn't loves me  
So I tell myself, I tell myself  
I do, I do, I do  
One, don't pick up the phone  
You know he's only calling 'cause he's drunk and alone  
Two, don't let him in  
You have to kick him out again  
Three, don't be his friend  
You know you're gonna wake up in his bed in the morning  
And if you're under him  
You ain't getting over him  
I've got new rules, I count 'em  
I've got new rules, I count 'em  
I've gotta tell them to myself  
I've got new rules, I count 'em  
I've gotta tell them to myself  
Practice makes perfect  
I'm still tryna' learn it by heart (I got new rules, I count 'em)  
Eat, sleep, and breathe it  
Rehearse and repeat it 'cause I (I got new, I got new, I)  
One, don't pick up the phone  
You know he's only calling 'cause he's drunk and alone  
Two, don't let him in  
You have to kick him out again  
Three, don't be his friend  
You know you're gonna wake up in his bed in the morning  
And if you're under him  
You ain't getting over him  
I've got new rules, I count 'em  
I've got new rules, I count 'em  
I've gotta tell them to myself  
I've got new rules, I count 'em (baby you know I count 'em)  
I've gotta tell them to myself  
Don't let him in, don't let him in  
Don't be his friend, don't be his friend  
Don't let him in, don't let him in  
Don't be his friend, don't be his friend  
You ain't getting over him

 

NEW RULES.  
CHAPTER ONE. 

The song was fucking ironic to say the least. 

Listening to the lyrics she found herself grinning, in spite of everything. Could have been written with her in mind.  
A little smile played across her lips. 

It was the strangest feeling to be out and about again. 

Especially after so long. 

Free from a relationship that was, at best manipulative and controlling, at worst, abusive. 

Her shame was she didn't realise it. It was just the way things were. It took a concerned friend to tell her the truth she'd denied to herself for so long. 

As for the hardship of being a single person again....well.... _fucking hell!_

No one tells you these things do they? 

Splitting up from a long term partner.....not only do you lose that relationship and the home you shared together, but also roughly half of your friends.  
The friends that were his before they were yours. The friends who see you as a duel entity.  
Couples don't want a single person at their dinner table. It unbalances their finely honed equilibrium. They won't invite you to their party because your ex will be there and they don't want a scene. Makes it so hard for them.  
_For them?_

Ha! Joke. 

It's ten times harder for you. 

But they don't see it that way. Suddenly you're a hanger on. An inconvenience. The unattached friend they can only go for a coffee with. No longer part of the group. 

Then there's the family of the partner. People who have become your family too....but the connection is severed from the moment of parting. Why?  
Simple. Because their loyalty is to their son/grandson/cousin or whatever. 

No matter how much of a cunt he's been. 

It's _you_ they look at with contempt, as if you were a nasty smell, or something on the base of their shoe. Do or say even the most innocuous thing that may be construed as bitter or unkind and you're labelled 'spiteful', spoken of with contempt. 

Emerging from the other side of a divorce is like being a chrysalis, slowly but surely the sides of the carapace split apart, the new creature crawls out. Blind. Dumb. Barely able to function. Gradually the body is pumped with life force again, the wings unfurl and fill, ready to take to the air once more. Being most careful not to be devoured by the first predator one comes across, before the body casing is fully armoured. Weak and vulnerable, but alive. 

So it was, and here she sat. 

More or less whole. 

A few disastrous liaisons. Some stupid wild throwbacks to being a teenager. A couple of regrettable one night stands which didn't end well. 

More sensible now. More wary. Certainly a hell of a lot more cynical. 

Bruised and battered but defiant. 

All the love surgically removed and sutured over. Boiling the best part of fifteen years down to monetary value and possessions, like the proverbial bunny in the saucepan.

Richer from the settlement, but poorer in practically every other way. 

Money means very little when you're alone and have nothing to spend it on, and somehow, all the sensible decision making processes go out of the window.  
No one there to ask for advice. Except perhaps a solicitor, who charges a hefty £250 an hour for the fucking privilege! No one else trusted enough to confide in. No one to ring in the dark depths of the night when it all becomes too much. 

oOo

Banishing these negative thoughts with a supreme effort, trying to at least look as if she was enjoying herself. 

Sipping her wine, scanning the room from her vantage point at the bar. Perched on a stool. 

People mingled. Chatted. 

Several work colleagues were here. In fact that's why she was here herself. Normally she would have scuttled off home, but tonight, for some inexplicable reason she didn't. Small talk was easy enough. Meaningless, but pretty simple. 

DoSaC was a vast machine. So many back office staff. Small cogs in a big wheel. 

Just when she spotted him was difficult to say, and looking back now she found it hard to pinpoint the exact moment. 

Circulating. 

Now if ever there was a predator, she mused, it was him. 

Tall and slim in a well cut suit. Closely cut greying hair. She guessed he was probably just shy of fifty.

He leaned into people as he spoke to them. Giving them the impression they were cornered. Eyeing them up, ready to pounce.  
Sharp features, pinched and stern. Occasionally poking out a long index finger, digging into the poor unfortunates chest. Then that rictus smile.  
The relief on his chosen victim to find he was joking. 

_Or was he?_

She watched him, fascinated. 

Their paths seldom crossed. He moved in far more elevated circles than her own. 

She knew him by reputation of course. Everyone did. Infamous rather than famous. 

Brash. Sweary. Not very nice to know. Most didn't have a good word to say of him. 

Slowly but surely he was steering his way towards the bar where she sat. As if he were following a compass. Weaving slightly. Threading his way through. No one was missed. Each person received some form of greeting. Pressing the hands of those he wanted to see, veering away to avoid those he did not.  
He'd glanced her way a couple of times.  
Briefly.  
Just a flicker then back inside the casing that was his suit once more. 

Now he reached her side. 

Leaning over the counter top, he attracted the barman's attention immediately. 

"Orange juice with ice, please." He barked. 

Turning, he regarded her for a second, before his eyes came to rest on her almost empty glass. 

"Drink?" His eyebrows furrowed together quizzically. 

Oh those eyes though! 

How beautiful they were. 

Clear and green. Like two pools of liquid turquoise. 

The expression on his face was completely different now. As if a button had been pressed. 

Softening. More kindly. No longer threatening and certainly not crowding in as if to intimidate. 

It was quite disconcerting and she wasn't sure whether to smile or not. Indeed she wasn't sure how to react at all. 

"Er.....yes, thanks very much...." 

He gave a shrug as if it really wasn't a big deal. 

"....I'll have a white wine please." 

"Any particular one?" 

Peering into the empty depths as if the name of the urine coloured liquid she'd had previously would somehow become clear to her, she considered for a moment. 

"Er....Sav Blanc....I think." She replied dubiously. 

"And a Sav Blanc for the lady, thanks Jim." Turning back to the bartender he waved a crisp twenty in his general direction. 

The glass being duly placed in front of her he lifted his own. 

"Thank you." She responded, raising hers in turn. 

"Cheers!"

The each raised their own and both took a draught. His lips glistened where the ice cubes touched them, and for some reason she found this quite mesmerising. 

"You not a drinker then?" 

_God! Talk about small talk! Could she really think of nothing better to say?_

His reply did not betray annoyance however, answering in a matter of fact manner, with great honesty. 

"Not at these do's, no. Prefer to keep my wits about me. On top of my game. These fuckers will always take the opportunity to screw you over if they can." 

There really was no reply to that. At least not one she could think of. So she took a glug of vino instead. 

The silence hung. Suspended. Awkward. 

He was regarding her with a hawklike expression. Intense and rather formidable. As if he were weighing up whether she was worth continuing to converse with or if he should indulge her with a some standard pleasantries before moving on.  
Seated there, she felt suddenly very exposed. 

"Not seen you at one of these bashes before. You new?" The question was asked amiably enough but it put her instantly on her guard. 

"Me? No. I've been here two years. But you won't have noticed me. I'm nobody. I just work in the IT department." 

His forehead creased with thought, as if pondering her sentence at some length. Head tilted slightly, so as to catch her words over the general hubbub around.  
Eventually he appeared to have formulated a response. 

"No such thing as nobody, love. It's the people who toil in the background that keep this leaky ship of a department afloat. Without them the likes of Terri and Robyn and co would be at the bottom of the fucking ocean. Floundering in their own incompetence. Davy Jones Locker." 

He seemed amused by his own observation and gave a tiny wry smile which changed his face again, making him look disarmingly handsome. Crinkles appearing on his nose and at the sides of his eyes. 

"It's Malcolm by the way." Holding out a large hand to her. "Malcolm Tucker. But no doubt you've already heard of me!" 

It was not expressed in an arrogant way, neither proudly nor with any degree of conceit. If anything he seemed half apologetic, perhaps even embarrassed.  
Somehow there seemed to be a certain vulnerability about him now, it was not there five minutes ago and appeared entirely at odds with everything she'd ever heard of him. 

Taking the proffered hand to shake, she noticed how long his fingers were. Almost freakishly so. With neat nails and very soft skin.  
His clasp was firm, not one of these limp, half hearted grips which one received from insincere, simpering dolts such as her ex husband's solicitor or her ex father-in-law. That kind of clammy grasp that made her want to immediately wipe her palm down her trouser leg or wash it directly afterwards.

"I'm Olivia. But everyone calls me Liv. And yes, I guess your reputation is somewhat notorious....in fact I've heard you're a mean bastard, but I don't judge people by what others say. I prefer to decide for myself." 

This seemed to surprise him. So much so that his eyebrows arched comically. 

Her response decided him. He would stay and converse. Here was someone he could perhaps engage with on an equal level, a person without agendas, with some sense and intelligence. 

"Pleased to make your acquaintance...Liv." 

And that was it. 

The beginning. 

Where everything changed. 

Two years of wading up to her knees in shit, suddenly came to an end, although she didn't know it then. Reaching higher ground. Shaking off the dirt. Washing herself clean and starting afresh. 

oOo

It was almost three weeks until she saw him again. 

Bumping into him....literally.....

If she was honest with herself she'd not given him much thought in the interim. Why should she?

She knew nothing about him. He knew nothing about her. 

But the chat that evening had been pleasant. Easy. Not forced. They'd talked through a variety of subjects. True, he'd disappeared off a few times for a while, mingled some more, but each time he'd gravitated back to her side.  
Whether she was standing with others engaging in a spot of mingling of her own, or sitting back on the stool alone, contemplating the depths of her glass.  
All of a sudden he'd reappear. 

Always the same gentlemanly manner. Fewer swear words. A softer expression. 

Sadly, at the end of the night, he was nowhere to be seen, and it was with some degree of disappointment that she'd taken her solitary cab home.  
Not that she dwelt on it at all. Expecting nothing. So unsurprised when nothing transpired. Par for the course really.  
He was just being nice. End of....

"Liv!" His exclamation was partly his astonishment at seeing her, partly due to his clumsiness in almost knocking her off her feet. 

"Malcolm! Hi!" 

Bending to help her retrieve the files she'd dropped, he apologised profusely. 

"Where did you dash off to the other night....?" 

His question knocked her back. Momentarily struck dumb, unsure quite how to respond.  
He continued ruefully...

"I looked for you, but you'd gone....." 

Now she was in a quandary. Clearly, he knew exactly where she worked and could have come to find her at any time during the intervening period if he so wished, but hadn't bothered to do so. So, she was left with the distinct feeling that this chance meeting had suddenly reminded him of her existence, and his words were therefore insincere. 

"Well. The party ended. I went home.....what can I say?" Her tone must have carried a slight edge, and he picked up on it immediately. 

The colour rose in his cheeks and he looked delightedly flustered. 

"I just wanted to say thank you....and goodbye......" 

She gave him her best _'Well, what do you expect me to do about it?'_ look.

"I must have missed you somehow..." he seemed crestfallen. "I enjoyed our chat immensely." 

Her shrug was as noncommittal as she could make it without appearing rude. 

"Me too." 

The flash of fear in his eyes was momentary, but he covered it well. He seemed to be thinking furiously. Pupils sweeping from side to side as he considered. 

"I don't suppose you'd be free later? To continue it? Over a drink or something....maybe?" Ridiculously hopeful. Like a child expecting a present. 

She hesitated. 

It was duly noted and before she could say 'no', he spoke again. 

"I'm sorry I didn't seek you out." It was almost as if he'd been lumbering around inside her head. "I would have done.....only......well, I dunno. It's been fucking hectic....and I wasn't sure if......well....I wasn't sure...." he ended lamely. Eyes now locked with hers. 

"I didn't really expect you to." It was the most honest reply she could muster. "It was a party. A chat. It's what people do, it doesn't imply anything." 

"I guess not....I didn't want you to think I'd just....you know.....let it go purposely.....I'm not very good with all this stuff......shite in fact. It's nothing personal. It isn't often I meet someone that I'd even....it isn't often I meet someone." 

Now it was her turn to smile. There was no insincerity here. He was just unsure of the response he'd receive and so, put off the repeat encounter indefinitely. It was as simple as that. 

"It's fine." At least her smile was encouraging. He dared to return it. "And I am free as it happens....tonight.....tomorrow.....whatever." 

He brightened considerably at her words. 

Delving into his jacket pocket he pulled out his phone. 

"I'll give you my personal number. We'll arrange a time...yeah?" 

Again, she smiled, raising her eyebrows slightly at the word 'personal'. 

"I'm highly honoured!" 

He looked mortified. 

"It's not like that. It's just that I don't give out my own number much. I don't like work stuff and private stuff to mix. This mobile is just.....well.....people I actually want to hear from...." 

"I see." There was some pity in her tone. It was clear that his privacy was important. She guessed, correctly, that there were not too many people on this particular speed dial. Peering at the screen which he held up for her to see, she punched in the digits quickly. 

"Now I'll ring you, then you'll have mine." 

Pressing dial, they both waited. Seconds later his phone vibrated in his hand. He saved the contact rapidly, then snapped the device back into his inside pocket. 

"I'll text you later. When I know what time I'll be leaving....it's never set in stone these days, always a bit vague...is that ok?" 

"Sure." 

He seemed to hesitate. Unsure of how to round off their exchange. 

"Well I'd best be getting back to work." Making her own move, to spare him the discomfiture. "So I'll see you a bit later shall I?" 

"Yeah. Great. Thanks Liv." Slowly he began to back away. "Later then?"

Another smile. 

"Bye Malcolm."


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm books a table.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occurred to me that I usually write Malcolm stories set at the time the show was made or broadcast, ie between 2006 and 2012, but the Dua Lipa Song is relatively new!   
> So, there's a bit of artistic licence there I'm afraid. Soz! 
> 
> Just a little in this chapter of the various meetings. All spaced far apart. There is no real planning involved and no expectation. Early days.

CHAPTER TWO. 

_“Why is it," he said, one time, at the subway entrance, "I feel I've known you so many years?"_  
_"Because I like you," she said, "and I don't want anything from you.”_  
― Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

.........

Dinner for two. 

One of many they would subsequently take, but she didn't know that then of course.

He'd rather surprised her by booking a table. 

"A drink you said!"

"I don't really drink."

It transpired that he was surprising in many ways. 

The place he'd chosen was lovely; quiet, but not over the top and not too flagrantly intimate. 

A small menu but good, well prepared food. 

Seated opposite her he tucked into his starter. Chatting at the same time, waving his fork to emphasise his point. He seemed to eat rather sparingly. 

A salad of chicory leaves, walnuts, pear and blue cheese drizzled with balsamic. 

Followed by poached fish avec velouté with steamed vegetables. 

While she ordered wine, he had tonic water. 

She couldn't quite work him out. 

The Malcolm she'd heard spoken of was loud and shouty. Quite often rude and brash. Didn't give a toss about anyone or anything.  
The man who sat opposite her wasn't like that at all.  
He was neither arrogant nor overtly cocksure. More like shy and unsure!  
His voice was soft, with the Scottish lilt less harsh than the workaday Tucker. 

Was this a date? 

Liv wasn't sure of that either. 

What constituted a date exactly? 

When it came right down to it she decided she didn't really care. To be in company was pleasant. 

The fact that it was Malcolm Tucker was something of an unknown, but then it would be the same with anyone, she reasoned. Liv wasn't going to let that be the factor that made her turn him down. 

Her first impression was that he was nice. Just that. A nice man. 

Right from that first encounter she felt somehow comfortable. No pretence. 

Malcolm liked eating out he said. It wasn't so much that it saved him cooking for himself, he just liked the ambience, enjoyed the fact that he wasn't expected to try quite so hard. It wasn't that he was trying to impress either, because Malcolm didn't do that.  
The 'poshness' didn't figure. Price was immaterial if the food was nicely prepared and the service decent. 

The talk turned inevitably to their lives. Or lack of. 

A grimace. 

His face changing. Serious and somewhat pained. She reasoned he carried deep hurt behind those bright eyes.

Turned out he was divorced too. Messily. His ex wife the female equivalent of her ex husband. 

A nasty, lying, cheating arsehole. 

Something in common there then! 

But he was reticent about it all, and having briefly addressed the subject it was thereafter carefully avoided. 

Then there was his work, the all encompassing sausage factory that regularly minced him into a raw mush of blood and bone. Ready to be skinned and cooked over a hot grill. 

After such a long period of time alone, Liv considered herself out of practice where male companions were concerned. What was expected? Or not expected? She wasn't sure what she wanted from any new relationship. If anything? Friendship perhaps, or rather companionship?  
She voiced as much, quite unabashed, to her dining partner. 

"Just some fucking intelligent conversation is a start!" He retorted, another rather pained expression flitting across his face. "Fuck knows Olivia. But does it matter?" 

"Not really." Was the honest reply. 

oOo

A series of meetings. 

At random intervals. 

They were not dates. Of that he was certain. If they were dates he'd have known.....but they weren't.  
Trysts? Rendezvous? Assignations? 

No!

Just two people meeting up at specifically arranged times, sometimes in advance, occasionally on the spur.....enjoying each other's company. 

Malcolm hadn't been near a woman in a very long time. Not in that way anyway.  
Fuck that! 

They all had agendas. Or kids. Or issues. Manipulative, untrustworthy, lying and cheating.  
Just like his ex wife. 

With Liv he was caution personified. 

There was no way she was getting her claws into him! 

A friend. 

That was all. 

That, he could cope with. 

Best not to become too involved. That way he'd avoid the hurt and the pain. 

It scared him that someone might come to know him too well. All his foibles and hangups. His idiosyncrasies. His secrets. 

Once that started to happen you were on the road to destruction. 

Malcolm couldn't allow that to happen. 

That way lay madness. 

He would draw the line at friendship. Companionship. 

After that? 

Red light! 

oOo 

They were most definitely not a couple. 

Liv was sure of that. 

It might be a week or more in between hearing from him, and even then it might be a chance 'bumping into each other' or perhaps a text to ask if she might be free?

Of course she was fucking free! 

She was _always_ fucking free....well, pretty much. 

'Hold on a moment, I'll check my diary.....nope.....completely empty....you?'

Then he'd laugh, a little kinda squeaky laugh that wheezed in his throat, but which she found rather endearing. 

"Point taken! After work then? I'll pick you up.....say 7?"

And so it went on. 

The men of her previous acquaintance were mostly leeches. Sucking the life out of you. Single, formerly married men were only out for one thing. A quick fuck.  
Wham bam thank you mam!  
Well not with her! 

Liv was not going about to become anyone's fuck buddy. 

Been there. Done that. Got the T-shirt. 

Most of these guys were bitter and cynical, having been taken for a ride by an ex. The missus got the house, custody of the children and everything else.  
Leaving the male partner now interested only in a brief shag then move on.  
Nothing meaningful required. It only led to more of the same. 

Malcolm seemed to be the opposite. 

Both shying away from the deep and meaningful. 

Circling each other warily. Giving away as little about themselves as possible, whilst still managing to grow the friendship. 

Liv didn't see Malcolm as being particularly affectionate in that way. Aloof and ramrod straight mostly. 

Sentimental certainly, he could talk for England, or rather, Scotland, on subjects of the past. 

THE past, not _HIS_ past. 

Memories and reminiscences. 

Regaling her with stories of misdemeanours, shit storms or conflicts with Ministers, the workings of Government and the machinations of Spin. 

Talking and laughing, smiles shared. Disarmingly frank. Quite entertaining. But never really letting her in. 

Neither party had seen the inside of the other's home. 

Domestic arrangements. That was too personal a thing. To see the decor, the books. Photographs and ornaments. The space where each escaped the rigours of the day. Where they washed, slept and ate. Far too intimate. 

It would give too much away. 

Their's was a 'going out' relationship. At an amiable, neutral venue. 

Strictly no familiarity of that nature. 

Three months passed before Liv eventually found herself looking forward to their pleasant evenings. The smile which would break out across his face when he called for her.  
The way his eyes changed from the working Malcolm to the Malcolm who was now her friend.  
Softening, becoming kinder, the crinkles in the corners when he looked down at her, or across the table. Spreading to the sides of his large nose. 

He developed little tics when they were in company. Or he always had them, she wasn't sure which. 

She noticed them more now. 

Playing with his own fingers or running them through his mat of greying hair. Touching his face or his nose.  
Rather sweet really. 

Malcolm spoke with his hands. She'd seldom witnessed such expressive movement. 

Curling his fingers into a crab to emphasise a certain point. Stabbing an index finger in her direction to show the strength of a word or its specific importance.  
Spreading them on the table in front of him, palms down, or waving them about with wild gesticulations to illustrate his meaning, define pronunciation or clarify his explanation. 

Quite fascinating to observe. 

Sometimes Olivia would find herself just sitting, watching him with amusement as he embarked on a story. 

Eyebrows scrunching or arching, the rows of lines on his forehead like furrows as he considered his words before conveying them. Sometimes a wicked little smile, or a curl of the top lip. Then, sitting back to wait for the effect....a pause, a moment of uncertainty, before she laughed heartily with him, thoroughly diverted.  
Then, relieved, he'd laugh too. Pleased that he'd entertained her.  
A big, wide toothy grin which showed his gums, eyes dancing with mirth, shoulders shaking. 

It was not very long, only a month or two, before having parted from him, going their separate ways at the end of yet another enjoyable evening, she began to feel somewhat empty.  
Returning to a solitary home. 

Finding herself wishing perhaps that he was still there.....

oOo

.....Malcolm unlocked his own front door. Flung his keys into the hall tray. 

Kicked off his shoes and loosened his tie. 

Walking around, turning on lights, making the space seem at least lived in. 

What now? 

Tea perhaps? 

Yes. 

Kettle on. One cup. One teabag. 

A deep breath inhaled, then puffed out through pursed lips. 

Notes to compile for the following day. Carrying his steaming mug through to the living room. A biscuit wedged between his teeth.  
Switching on his desk lamp, firing up the computer with a sigh. 

Work. 

Always work. 

Back to fucking reality. 

Back to lonely. 

The silence broken only by the hum of the fridge or the ticking of the clock. 

Somehow the tv or the radio, or putting a vinyl onto the turntable, didn't quite fill the void. They just emphasised the need to make some noise in the first place.  
Why had he not noticed this before?  
Or if he had, why had he not acknowledged it?

........

Thinking. 

When she smiled, she had dimples! He'd noticed that alright! 

A little circle of red on each cheek when she blushed. Her laugh was genuine, giggly, and rather infectious.  
Very small hands. Almost like a child's. Tiny delicate fingers. Neat nails, painted. Not crimson talons like some, but short rounded ends, varnished in a pale frosted colour, subtle and pretty. 

This particular evening their jackets had been taken by the waiter and hung one on top of the other on the coat hooks in the restaurant, so that now his black wool crombie smelled of her perfume. A scent of something floral and sweet. An aroma that made him want to bury his face into the material and inhale deeply. 

What the fuck was all that about?

It made him long for something he couldn't define.  
A little stab in the chest which caused him to wince when he felt it. 

"For fucks sake." He growled out loud, dismissing the thoughts, pushing them away as he logged in and began what would turn out to be several hours of exhausting work, taking him into the wee small ones. 

So bone tired he could then fall into bed and sleep. 

It was the only way he managed any rest at all these days.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance encounter upsets the apple cart....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm and Liv learning that friendship can sometimes be derailed....
> 
>  
> 
> (Gran Torino was out around the time TTOI was broadcast, which is why I chose it. It's a great movie. I'm a huge fan of Clint Eastwood, he plays the curmudgeonly Walt, a man angry with the world, who discovers an unlikely friendship.) Fitting I thought!
> 
> The 'one and nines' was 1/9d or one shilling and nine pence in old money. (Before decimalisation). That was what it cost to go to the children's Saturday afternoon pictures when I was a kid in the sixties!

CHAPTER THREE. 

_“When we think we have been hurt by someone in the past, we build up defenses to protect ourselves from being hurt in the future. So the fearful past causes a fearful future and the past and future become one. We cannot love when we feel fear.... When we release the fearful past and forgive everyone, we will experience total love and oneness with all.”_  
― Gerald G. Jampolsky

........

When exactly the moment arrived that Liv realised she was totally over her ex husband she wasn't really sure. 

Putting herself out there again had been the most difficult step. 

It was so easy to skulk indoors. 

Go to work, then go home again. 

Real friends she could count on the fingers of one hand. Acquaintances she had plenty. 

Solo outings were no fun really, although she endured them.  
Going to the cinema was okay, it was dark and no one either noticed or cared. 

But it was brought into perspective when she went to see a movie with Malcolm. 

_Gran Torino._

To have someone in the seat next to her who wasn't some dirty mac wearing perv was quite refreshing.  
Side by side their shoulders touched. 

A curious thrill ran through her which she did her best to ignore.  
Having someone to discuss the plot with afterwards was a joy too. 

Not to mention the experience of a companion with whom to go for pizza whilst discussing said plot! 

Malcolm sat in the half light watching the dust motes captured in the bright beams before the lights finally dimmed.  
Balancing a large bucket of popcorn on the chair arm between them. Crunching and munching as the trailers began.  
Glued to the screen, his hand reaching out blindly to grab another handful. Just as she did the same.  
Twice they did this at the same moment.  
Fingers touching. 

"Sorry!" He apologised quickly. 

"Greedy pig!" She responded, instantly breaking the frisson of discomfiture she knew he was experiencing. 

Honestly! He felt like a silly kid again.....watching a western on a Saturday morning in the one and nines! At the Rialto in his home city of Glasgow.  
With some eager wee lass sitting next to him who was hoping for a kiss. 

He couldn't see her face really. So, unable to gauge her expression adequately, he shovelled the entire handful into his mouth and ruminated on it until it was gone. 

It was so odd. So disconcerting. He could sense her every movement. Aware, as she crossed or uncrossed her legs. Her fingers rifling in the popcorn bucket. Wiping her face with a tissue or blowing her nose discretely when there was a sad scene.

That feeling in his chest was there again. It seemed to trouble him more and more. 

Shaking his head to rid himself of the thoughts he concentrated hard on the storyline. 

Engrossed. Until the end credits ran and the lights came up again. 

"That was really good!" She smiled. Turning to look at him. His face unreadable. 

"Yeah." He agreed, swallowing heavily. "It was much better than I thought.....sad in places though. That Walt.....he's so angry with the world." 

There was a melancholy air about him now. As if something in the film struck a chord. 

"Pizza?" She suggested brightly. 

"Abso-fucking-lutely!" 

oOo

They seldom burdened each other with the trials and tribulations in their private lives. 

Somehow it felt as if to do so would be to make the other beholden in some way. Force a reaction, like sympathy or comforting. Eliciting emotion between them for which neither were ready nor adequately able to express.  
Sure they ranted to each other about the shitness of their individual day, or how tired they were. Or the state of the country, the government, and/or the economy. The stupidity of some people, the cult of celebrity, all that general frustrating, vent inducing stuff.  
But when it came to their personal sorrows, their loneliness, the deep hurts they suffered in the past or continued to suffer.....it just didn't seem right somehow. 

The truth was they were both far too afraid. 

Don't get involved! 

Keep it simple. 

It had worked well so far. 

But not for much longer. 

oOo

It's strange how quickly one comes to rely upon a thing. No matter how trivial, that sense of regularity soon becomes essential. 

So it was with Olivia. Even though it was against everything she expected or even wanted. Consciously or unconsciously. 

This rather odd friendship, this unconventional, strictly non-committal meeting of minds. It brightened her day and made the subsequent days bearable. 

So she found herself doubly disappointed when it appeared to be coming to an end. 

There had been no texts from Malcolm for nearly a week. On Friday, when she quite often received a message from him, still none came. Why did she check her phone every few minutes? 

Annoyed with herself for being such a shallow sap, the phone was stowed in her handbag and she got on with her work. 

That sense of anticipation faded as the hours of the afternoon passed. Resigning herself to a night round the telly, alone. 

Around three, gasping for a cuppa, she headed off downstairs to the canteen. 

Only to spy a familiar shape in the atrium below. 

Malcolm. 

He was accompanied by a rather attractively dressed female in high heels. His arm shepherding her through the double doors with the familiarity of a man who is confident in his knowledge of his companion. 

As Liv reached the bottom step he spotted her. 

At first he seemed to stop short, colouring slightly. Then, the woman, following the direction of his riveted gaze, came up behind him, threading her arm through his at the elbow. 

"Everything alright Malc?" She simpered with a voice like molasses. 

A snap of his neck as he dragged his eyes away from Liv's and turned back towards his new companion. 

"Yeah. Fine. Let's go." He responded, sheepishly, allowing her to escort him from the building instead of the other way around. 

Standing as if rooted to the spot, she watched them go. A car waited outside. Malcolm opened the door for this beautiful specimen of womanhood to fold her legs elegantly into the back seat.  
She saw him close it, then skirt around the rear of the vehicle before sliding in to join her.  
The black Merc then gliding away without further ceremony. 

So many thoughts flashed through her mind. None were particularly good or even nice. The most overwhelming of which was a feeling of rejection, which she could not, no matter how hard she tried, banish. 

Why did she feel this way? 

She and Malcolm were merely friends. Occasional friends at that. He was not her boyfriend, her partner, her lover. In fact she really didn't know him that well at all. His past was a mystery to her, details of his private life not shared.  
They simply met up from time to time and went out.  
He was entitled to see whomever he pleased.  
Perfectly at liberty to date women.....numerous women if he so chose.  
It was absolutely none of her business. 

And yet this chance encounter disturbed her so much. 

Was it because she secretly hoped that one day they would mean more to each other?  
Did she covet him in that way? 

It hadn't really crossed her mind until that moment. 

Was she jealous? 

If so she had no damn right to be. 

He owed her no explanation. No excuses. 

Yet his face spoke differently. His face screamed acute embarrassment.....with the flushing of his cheeks, the widening of his eyes yelled shame. 

Picking an empty table with her tea and a cookie was fitting. As empty as she felt right at this moment. 

Perhaps she had secretly _did_ wish for more with Malcolm. Just not out loud. Maybe she was _not_ content with what they had. Who knew?  
Yet it galled her to think, that without those meagre crumbs, however she really had no one. 

oOo

The sight of her descending the stairs made Malcolm's heart give a little leap in his chest. 

Stopped him almost in his tracks. 

Today she was looking particularly pretty. Although that seemed such a sexist cliche, and Malcolm silently berated himself for it. She always looked nice. There was a neatness about her which pleased him.  
Liv didn't need to be ostentatious to be attractive.  
Minimal makeup and classic, well cut, simple clothes suited her best. 

Glossy hair. Good skin. 

She wasn't _really_ this paragon of virtue and stunning looks at all. She was attractive enough but really fairly ordinary in the great scheme of things. But beauty is in the eye of the beholder! 

And Liv positively shone in his eyes. 

Made him proud to be walking next to her. Or sitting across from her at the dining table. Her eyes were honest and clear. She was the soul of discretion and didn't indulge in mindless gossip. Her conversation was pleasant and amusing.  
In short, a pleasure to be with. 

Seeing her, as her foot reached the bottom step, made him long to rush over and say how pleased he was to see her. 

But he couldn't. 

He was already engaged elsewhere. 

Since his divorce he had steered well clear of women generally. They were nothing but trouble. The few dates he'd embarked upon ending badly. Except for Liv, with whom he felt reasonably at ease, comfortable, knowing there was nothing particular expected.  
Because of the nature of his work, he was often subject to the wicked wiles of those who would use him for their own ends. Either to be pumped for information, or as tabloid fodder when he was tricked into climbing between the sheets.  
He was onto this by now of course, and quite often played the game, cleverly manipulating his would be honey trapper into an indiscretion of her own. 

Press interviews were par for the course, and he had many friends and acquaintances there who owed him favours, or whom he owed a favour in his turn. 

Today was one such meeting. 

Kelly Grogan was a scheming gold digger. He knew that well enough. They had history. He no more wanted to be in her company than a mouse with a cat.  
But needs must.  
He required the information he had discovered she possessed. 

It was a military exercise. Nothing more. 

The look which crossed Liv's face slayed him. 

It wasn't shock exactly, but it was wounded. Like she'd been hit by something.  
And it made him feel like shit. 

In truth he'd been much looking forward to spending an evening with her, until his plans were scuppered.  
Such a fucking coward.  
Would it have been so hard to text her? 

He huffed crossly. 

To do so implied a certain preempted expectation. Not the casual coming together they had so far enjoyed.  
If it became a regular thing, did that not imply a relationship? Or at least the beginning of one? 

If he felt duty bound to tell her where he was at any given time did that not make her his gaoler? 

Well, perhaps gaoler was too strong a word. 

.......'supervisor' was probably more appropriate. 

Or worse....his fucking mother! 

No! Damn it! He did not owe Liv an explanation. 

He could do as he damn well liked. With whomever he damn well pleased. 

So why did it make him feel so fucking awful? 

oOo

Over the weekend he stewed. 

Determined on Monday to seek her out first thing and tell her that he'd behaved like a cunt and how fucking sorry he was. 

She deserved that much at least. 

What she deserved was for someone to treat her a darn sight better than he had. 

She was well within her rights to feel used. There for him to play with until a better offer came along. 

Malcolm Tucker didn't treat people he cared about so appallingly. He fucking didn't. His mother, God rest her soul, would have a fit if she knew. Always brought up to be a gentleman, to treat women with respect. Warranting a clip round the ear most definitely! 

His behaviour disgusted even him. It didn't matter that they were not in a relationship....she was supposed to be his friend. Certainly, over the previous few months that's what she'd become.  
Their outings the highlight of his day. 

Yet he'd never told her so. 

No. Come Monday he'd make amends, grovel if necessary.  
Put things right. 

oOo

"Doing anything later Liv?" 

Wendy, who worked on the adjacent desk to hers, leaning back in her chair peering around the partition which separated their respective work areas. 

"No. Why?" 

"A few of us are going for a drinks and a bite to eat for Tom's birthday. Wondered if you'd like to come?" 

Liv frowned to herself. 

What she wanted to say was _'it's a bit late in the day to be asking isn't it?'_

Was this enterprise only decided on today? Was she asked as an after thought? Had someone much more popular dropped out?  
The latter is what she strongly suspected. 

"It's a bit short notice." She replied cagily. 

Wendy gave a tight little grimace. The false smile she'd painted on vanished. 

"Well, you can either make it....or not. I can't see it much matters." 

Did this woman make a career out of being a fucking snooty bitch or did it just come naturally? Liv wondered idly to herself. 

"Where are you going?" She enquired with forced politeness. 

"The Dog and Whistle first, then we've booked a table at Antonio's." 

Antonio's was a nice place. Malcolm had taken her there. Good food, pleasant surroundings and congenial waiting staff. 

"Sounds like fun." She eventually replied, swallowing her damaged pride and abandoning what little dignity remained. 

Her colleague seemed momentarily nonplussed. Presumably expecting her to refuse. 

She very nearly did. 

But after the body blow she received on Friday she thought, 'what the hell!' 

......

After a hectic morning where Malcolm hadn't been able to grab a moment, due to the fact that his arch nemesis Steve Fleming had been skulking around No 10, he suddenly realised it was almost five and he still hadn't seen Olivia to apologise. 

"Fuck it!" He cursed his own forgetfulness. "SAM!" 

His long suffering PA poked her head round the office door. 

"I'm nipping over to DoSaC....if anyone wants to know." He barked, grabbing his coat and scarf from the stand. 

Hurrying into the building he punched the lift button with a cursory index finger. Looking up to watch the numbers as the elevator trundled down from the upper floors. 

Glancing idly about him as he waited impatiently. 

It was after five now, she'd be leaving at any moment, if she hadn't left already. 

His gaze alighted on a group of eight or so employees coming down the stairs. Chatting and laughing, full of bon homie.  
Liv was amongst them. 

His heart sank. 

Near the back of the little knot of happy people. Deep in a close conversation with a tall, handsome guy who was probably her contemporary in age.  
A momentary decision.  
Malcolm ducked beneath the stairwell out of sight. 

They crossed the foyer together as a party. The man's hand resting in the centre of her back as he guided her through the revolving door. 

'Oh well. That's it then!' He thought to himself bitterly before slinking away unnoticed. 'You've blown it Malcolm. You're a fucking idiot.'


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm is in trouble....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a new stance on the infamous Steve Fleming resignation episode from series three.  
> Taking Peter's words into consideration. 
> 
> I can just see him sitting there in his pale blue jumper, on the couch, having his 'would you like to swim the channel for Scope' conversation! 
> 
> All the details of the inside of Malcolm's home come from what can be seen in the background shots from that day, plus the day of the 'curry with the journo's' and the 'I fuck lobsters for money' scenes. Which are the only other times we see Malcolm at home and the shots from those camera angles are fleeting to say the least.  
> Now I'm not sure if the stuff in that house was what was already in it, and were left intact when they began shooting, or whether set dressers came in to give the place a 'Malcolm make-over' but I'm taking it that the things we see are indeed Malcolm's own. It's up to you all to decide for yourselves how real it all is from the characters pov.  
> The house itself is a typical suburban London style home. It could be in Muswell Hill or Kensal Rise. It could be Islington or Stoke Newington. It's probably Victorian or at the very least Edwardian. A standard bay windowed semi. (Worth a mint now though!) Extended at the back but not upstairs. (Probably with two bedrooms and a boxroom and bathroom). Downstairs we can more or less see the layout. I've looked at it frame by frame....I know....I'm that pathetic.....and have written more or less what I can see!

CHAPTER FOUR. 

_“Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind._  
_"Pooh!" he whispered._  
_"Yes, Piglet?"_  
_"Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw. "I just wanted to be sure of you.”_ A.A. Milne. The House at Pooh Corner. 

...........

During the week that followed despite checking her phone from time to time there was no message from Malcolm. 

Once or twice her finger hovered over the 'send' button having typed a text to him. Each time it was deleted without despatch.  
He'd think she was chasing him, that she was desperate. Or worse....clingy. 

Perish the thought. 

Clearly he'd met someone and their friendship was at an end. It was no more complicated than that. 

She had ceased to be useful. 

The emptiness she felt was a bereavement of sorts. 

Meanwhile, had she but known it, Malcolm Tucker was fighting for his very existence. 

Steve Fleming was moving behind the scenes to oust him. 

The end of that week culminated in the now famous _'you will fucking see me again'._

Much talked about subsequently in the corridors of both No 10 and at the DoSaC offices. 

But that was later. Right now it was still actually happening. 

Naturally, on that Friday the news was yet to filter through. 

Malcolm slammed out of the office and through the cordon. Into the roaring traffic of Whitehall. 

Where the fuck was he going? 

He had no thought and no clue. 

Walking briskly, coat flying, heading towards the Embankment. 

Perhaps he would just throw himself off Westminster Bridge. That would please a lot of people! 

No purpose and no real idea of direction. 

Eventually seating himself on a bench. Numb with emotion. Breathing ragged. Jaw tight. Holding it in. 

Staring blankly out across the fast running Thames as the tide was flowing. Like a carved sculpture. A gargoyle. His hands resting along his thighs. 

So that was it then. It was over. 

Everything he'd worked for. Everything he'd sacrificed for The Party. 

A voice suddenly broke into his shattered mind. Tearing him back from the brink of running mad. 

"Malcolm?" 

Surprised to see him seated there. 

Pointedly not turning his head to look at her, although he knew who it was right enough. 

Olivia. 

A sandwich bag and a coffee in her hand, out for a lunchtime breath of air. Then he remembered.  
She often came here. She'd told him on one of their _'not dates'._  
Was it purely by chance that this was where he'd headed? Some weird fucked up serendipity that he'd placed himself unconsciously in the one spot where he might hope for help to come? 

Lowering herself onto the metal bench beside him. Perched sideways on the edge, so she could look at him more closely. 

"Malcolm?" She repeated. "Are you alright?" 

_Of course he wasn't fucking alright! How could he possibly be alright? What a stupid question._

Just one glance at his white, drawn face, his red rimmed eyes, his tearing breaths should tell her that. 

Was she blind? 

"What's happened?" Her voice was very soft, like melting marshmallow. 

Oh, for God's sake don't be kind! He couldn't take kindness right now. Someone being nice to him. Her of all people, who by rights should call him the cunt that he undoubtedly was and walk away!  
That would be the end. 

Not daring to look at her he continued to gaze unblinking at the dappled light playing on the water. 

He shrugged his shoulders with feigned indifference. A bitter laugh. His tone, when he could finally muster the words, was cracked and broken. 

"I'm finished." 

There was no theatrical gasp from her lips. No shocked verbal response at this revelation. Nothing at all.  
Instead, placing her cup and paper bag carefully on her other side, she slid herself next to him, shoulder to shoulder, just as they had been when they went to the cinema together.  
Mirroring his forward glance. Her eyes scanning the river in silence, focussing exclusively on a small motor launch which was just tying up at Westminster Pier. 

After a few seconds which seemed like an eternity, her hand came across slowly, hesitantly, covering his where it still rested, motionless, on his leg.  
Somehow her small fingers worked their way beneath his, then turned over, palm uppermost.  
When he made no sign of wishing to pull away, she curled their hands together. Digits interlocking. Dovetailing and holding tight.  
Her skin warm where his was cold.

"What do you need?" She said. 

oOo

Several seconds passed before he raised their conjoined hands. 

"This...." He replied quietly. 

".....although I don't fucking deserve it." 

The conversation flowed back and forth between them like machine gun fire. Probably deeper than they'd ever spoken before. Both gazing ahead, eyes fixed on the view. 

"Why don't you deserve it?" 

"Because I acted like a cunt. Look.....Liv....I'm really sorry about the other day. Kelly isn't my.....my anything....she's just someone I know who held some sensitive information I needed....what you saw...." 

"It's really none of my business Malcolm."

"Nevertheless. You are owed an apology and you didn't get one. I came over to speak to you Monday. But then I saw you going out with a group from your floor.....and I....." 

"You did what? Why didn't I see you?"

"I hid." 

"For crying out loud! Why on earth did you do that?" 

"Well, you were cozy with that tall guy and I thought....well....you looked happy." 

"Tom?" 

"Don't know the guy. He was talking to you. Arm round you.....I just felt like a bit of an idiot." 

"Malcolm! Tom is an arse, but it was his birthday, we were going to Antonio's....and before you get excited, do you know why I was asked along?" 

"Do tell." 

"Because Sandra Jefferson couldn't go so there was a yawning gap at the table. I found out during the course of the evening. I was no more than a fucking afterthought."

"Shit! That sucks." 

"You don't owe me an explanation though, even if you and what's her name....?"

"Kelly." 

"......you and Kelly, are seeing each other. You're perfectly entitled to see whomever you please." 

"I know that. But I don't want to. I'm quite happy as I am thank you very much." 

"Anyway.....all that aside.....you've not answered my question. Not properly anyway." 

"What question?" 

"What do you need Malcolm? How can I help?" 

For the first time he turned to look at her. Eyes swimming, face so sorrowful that she had the urge to comfort him. She could see his mouth was working. Holding in his emotion stoically. 

"I should go home." 

"Then why don't you?" 

"Don't want to."

Her eyes were so soft and so kind he almost gave way. Almost. 

"Talk to me Malcolm."

"I need a drink." 

"Then why not have one?" 

"Can't." 

Her eyebrows lifted but she waited patiently for him to continue. 

"I'm an alcoholic."

"Ah! I see. How long?"

"How long is a piece of string? It started in earnest when my divorce was going through. Bad time. Fucked me up completely. I lost myself for a bit there....you know? Drank myself shitless. Then I woke up one morning with the hangover from hell, couldn't remember a fucking thing from the previous 24 hours....so I decided it had to stop. I went to AA. Three years dry now." 

The right hand which still held Malcolm's was joined by her left. Sandwiching his fingers tightly between both her palms. 

"Oh Malcolm!" She whispered. 

"If I go home by myself then I'll drink. Because I want to very, very badly right now." 

"Then I'll come with you." 

"You'd do that?" 

"Yes."

"Why?" 

"Because." 

She gave a reassuring smile.

"Do you still have a sponsor?" 

"Yes. An old friend. Pat." 

"Then call him." 

Using his free hand Malcolm reached inside his jacket for his phone. His fingers were trembling. 

"Here. Let me." 

Taking it gently from him. Dialling the number he indicated then passing it back. 

The conversation was brief. When it was over he replaced the phone and gave a sigh. 

"Well?" 

"He'll come over. Meet me at mine." 

"Good. Let's go then....I'll hail us a taxi." 

They stood together as one. 

"Don't let go of my hand Liv. Please. It's anchoring me at the moment. It's keeping me sane. Just keep hold will you?" 

She smiled at him again and his heart almost burst apart. 

"I will." She said. 

True to her word she sat in the back seat next to him as they travelled through Westminster and out into the hinterland, his hand securely clasped between her own until it became quite clammy.  
Only letting go when they drew up outside the Victorian semi with its bay windows and its privet hedge.

Liv had never been to Malcolm's abode. She'd never even seen it.  
Whenever they met he would pick her up from her house, either in his car or a taxi. Or they would arrange to meet up in town.  
Mind you, Malcolm had only ever seen the outside of her place. 

So, to walk into his private domain almost seemed like an honour bestowed. 

She wasn't sure quite what to expect. Bachelor pad? Minimalism? Plain walls and no fripperies?  
Walking down the hallway, passed the stairs with the old fashioned wooden banister. Looking about her, as she followed him inside, she was pleasantly surprised.  
A homely house.  
With rather an odd layout. 

The room with the bay window to the front which overlooked the street, was mainly a work and dining area.The original fireplace still in situ. Table and chairs. A music stand. Desk, computer. Shelves of files.  
The kitchen was rather strangely, in the centre of the house, a galley style. But clean and neat and well equipped. 

A step down lead to a large living space which was obviously an added extension.  
Light poured in from a large skylight in the ceiling. One wall decorated with a rather nice monochrome birch tree design which leaned towards the Scandinavian.

Comfy sofas. Soft and squishy. Scatter cushions. _Scatter cushions?_ Yes....scatter cushions! 

Bookshelves lined with books, dozens of volumes plus DVDs, vinyl records and CDs, which took up one whole wall. Also housing a huge flat screen tv. 

Whilst Malcolm took off his coat and moved into the kitchen, she perused his bookcase with interest.  
An eclectic mix. 

Pieces of ceramic artwork. Small sculptures made of wire and various other materials. An antique hurricane lantern.  
The books themselves ranged from all the volumes of The Encyclopaedia Brittanica to 'Where Eagles Dare' and everything in between.  
At the far end there flowered a pale orchid. It's fragile blooms like precious snowflakes. Pictures on the walls were mostly original sketches and water colours. But also some children's crayoned drawings fixed to the kitchen cabinets with blu-tack.  
Lastly, a framed quote. 

_"If you're still here, still alive and still sober then you're extremely blessed."_

Returning to the kitchen she stood at Malcolm's side as he produced cups and a cafetière. 

She couldn't help but notice a wine rack. With at least half a dozen dusty bottles on display in it. 

"Why do you keep those?" She pointed to the offending articles. 

"For when guests come." He replied dully. "And to remind me why I drank." 

"Why did you drink?" 

His eyes were the clearest she'd ever seen them. Filled with a deep honesty. 

"I drank to forget. I drank to numb the pain. I drank because I hated myself so much I didn't want to exist anymore. I drank to get some sleep at night and I drank to get me through the day. Basically I just drank."

His words tore her heart.  
How strong must he have been to get through this? To still be standing? 

She reflected that she knew more about him in the last hour than she had learned in four months of friendship. 

"Then I admire you." She murmured. "It takes guts to even admit you have a problem." 

"Sometimes it's easier than others. Right now it's fucking hard." 

"Is it wise to have the bottles here then? I mean....the temptation.....?" 

"Those bottles keep me strong. They are my confessional. Knowing they're there and I can't touch them helps somehow." 

Liv didn't really understand this at all, but didn't comment further. 

She watched as he attempted to carry the two cups, but his hands shook so badly that she took them from him. Carrying them through into the living room where they sat down side by side on the couch. 

Malcolm placed both hands firmly between his knees and clamped them together. Bouncing his legs constantly as he tried to regain control. 

Eventually he gave up, turning to her almost with a look of anger. 

"Listen, would you mind if I disappear for five minutes, I need a shower." 

Liv gave what she hoped was an encouraging smile. 

"Not at all." 

"I feel dirty. You know? Soiled." 

"I understand." 

Rising, he hurried away, up the stairs two at a time. She heard a door close firmly and then the indistinct sound of water flowing. 

Malcolm stripped himself as if he were infested with lice. Almost ripping off his clothes. Flinging them aside he stepped under the cascade and let out a sigh of relief. 

The water pounded down on his head, as he stood, both hands flat against the tiled wall. Letting it cleanse him. It was as if his old life were being washed away. Disappearing down the plug hole. All the work, all the effort. All the heartache.  
Bowing his head beneath the relentless flow, steam swirling and condensing around him until he was lost in a fog.  
For a long while he couldn't bring himself to actually wash. Just standing under the stream of hot water was enough. It calmed him. Reducing the shake which had been present since he walked out of Number Ten. 

He thought vaguely of Olivia, seated downstairs. Drinking her coffee. 

She'd been kind. Unusually for him he'd accepted her charity. Without it he would not have been able to return home. He knew that.  
He ought to be grateful.  
Yet all he felt now was the intrusion. Aspects of his most private of privacies were now out there, on display.  
Of all the things, all the trials, all the pain he'd endured, this was the one he'd tried his best to keep hidden.  
No one knew. 

Except now they did. 

A faint annoyance disturbed his new found serenity. 

Fucking hell Malcolm! 

Towelling himself vigorously, combing his hair, he donned clean underwear, fresh socks, some cotton navy jeans. Selecting, without much conscious thought, a check shirt and a pale blue jumper. 

He felt better. 

Now he must go down and face the woman who he'd unwittingly let into his most guarded secret. 

Try not to be a cunt......

Liv was sitting where he'd left her, he wasn't sure if she'd been nosing around or not (she hadn't!) but there was no point worrying about it. He'd had no choice but to leave her there, other than to ask her to leave, and he considered this to be at the best impolite, at the worst downright rude.

She raised her eyes to him as he reentered. Gave a little smile. 

"Better?" She enquired. 

"Much." 

The scent of him assaulted her nostrils and made her swallow involuntarily. A clean wholesome smell.  
Shower gel and shampoo. His hair still slightly damp, the back, around his neck tight, dark curls. 

He saw her focus leave him and become engrossed in her half empty coffee cup. 

Best ignore, not say anything else, he decided. 

He suddenly felt very self conscious. So painfully awkward. 

Taking his own mug in both hands, cradling it like a small precious object, he blew across the surface before taking a tentative sip. He needn't have bothered, it was quite cool. 

"No one at the office ever saw me drunk. It never affected my work you know." 

_Well, that was fucking random! Where had that come from? Why the fuck did he even need to justify or explain himself?_

Malcolm was floundering. 

"You're good at that aren't you? Hiding things." 

Her reply was equally as detached. 

"Yeah. Fucking expert. Not one person at Number Ten or at DoSaC really knows me, and I'd prefer it to stay that way if you don't mind." 

Her look to him was devastating. Such disbelief. The implication of his words, clear. As he watched, her eyes watered. 

"What the fuck do you think I am?" Her voice a tremulous whisper. 

He stared down into the muddy depths of his coffee, as if searching for something. Taking another swallow he turned to look at her. Somehow he had to end this uncomfortable situation. 

"Pat'll be here in a minute. You can go if you like. I'll be okay now." 

"I'd rather stay until he arrives if it's alright with you?" 

Malcolm's brow furrowed. 

_No, it wasn't all-fucking-right!_

All he wanted was to be alone. It seemed that every time he opened his mouth he put his fucking great size Ten into it. 

All he wanted now was to wallow in his own self pity and to thrash out in his mind what he was going to do next. 

"I'm not going to do anything stupid if that's what you think." 

Liv didn't reply, regarding him sceptically. 

"I'm too much of a fucking coward for that. Haven't got the bollocks." 

"I was thinking more of you cracking open one of those bottles." 

His eyes hardened, the steely glare which she'd seen him give ministers and coworkers many times before. 

"Please go Liv. I'm fine now." He stated with firm finality, a pained expression on his face. 

She could sense his discomfiture. See that he was more in control now the initial shock had passed. 

What a fucking fool he'd made of himself! Now she knew this about him. Couldn't 'unknow' it. Now she'd feel fucking sorry for him, and the last thing he wanted was her pity, or anyone's for that matter. 

Liv was injured by his implication that she would tell what she knew of him to others, but not upset by his following words.  
The embarrassment he felt by admitting his state to her was perfectly obvious. But her face still showed her concern.  
Standing, replacing her empty cup on the coffee table, she gazed down at him, as he sat there hunched around his own mug as if it were a warm fire.

"It'll only work for so long you know." She said, flatly. 

"What will?" 

"Pushing people away." 

A little ironic scoff escaped his lips. 

"I've done alright so far thanks!" 

Just the hint of a smile playing....blink and it was gone. Moving through to the hallway she found her coat and pushed her arms into the sleeves.  
He followed her only out of politeness, otherwise he was sure he'd have let her find her own way out. 

"Trusting someone is hard. No one knows that better than me. But, well......if you ever need a friend....anytime.....you have my number." 

With that there was a scuffle of feet from the porch outside, the doorbell jangled loudly. 

"That'll be Pat." 

He couldn't look at her, eyes cast down at his toes. Almost hustling her nearer to the exit. 

"See you round Malcolm." 

There was no response. The merest shrug of his shoulders. 

Reaching for the Yale lock she turned it and opened the door. 

A rather weedy looking man stood there. Gingery pale complexion, thinning hair, tall and slender. A good strong wind would blown him over.  
His eyebrows raised in surprise at the sight of her. Clearly expecting it to be Malcolm who let him in. Certainly not anticipating a rather attractive woman. Seconds passed as the two stared at each other as if conducting a telepathic conversation. 

"Hi Pat. Thanks for coming over." Malcolm's sullen voice broke in, apologetically. 

For a moment the three stood awkwardly, crowded in the doorway. Before Liv, stepping back, allowed the sponsor to enter, almost sidling passed her, his back pressed against the wall.  
His eyes still scanning her in evident confusion. 

"Liv was just leaving...." 

That was the only explanation Malcolm offered. As if it clarified everything his friend might want to ask. 

"Take care Malcolm." She said, curtly. Moving across the threshold and turning briefly. 

Malcolm's hand was already shutting the door on her, before she'd hardly passed through it. 

"Yeah." He murmured, with a sharp decisiveness. 

"Aren't you going to introdu......." Pat began, but was cut off mid sentence by the entranceway being barred to her, closing to with a dull click. 

Just for a brief second before it did, Malcolm's gaze met hers, as the gap narrowed and before it was severed. 

The eyes were filled with shame. 

Taking a minute or two to collect herself, button her coat, shoulder her bag, a deep breath, Liv hurried down the front path and walked away rapidly down the street. 

She didn't look back.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liv is thinking back....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little of Liv's back story in this chapter. So we learn a little of what makes her tick. How she's got to the point she's at now.

CHAPTER FIVE. 

_"The true measure of a man is how he treats you when others are not looking."_ Alessandra Torre. 

..........

"I know you'll never leave me." 

That's what he'd said to her. 

Her ex husband. 

He was so sure you see. So certain she was completely his. 

Liv wasn't clear in her mind as to how it had actually happened. How a seemingly perfect and wonderful relationship had turned so sour.  
Or, more to the point, how she'd allowed it. 

His ways were so subtle. Making her think each time that she was somehow at fault.  
Nothing she ever seemed to do was right. 

Carefully and slowly he chipped away at her self confidence. Undermining her and making her completely beholden to him. 

When did it change? 

When did it turn from love to manipulation? 

By degrees. 

Both teenagers when they met.  
Even early on that sense of control was there, although she was too young and inexperienced to recognise it.  
Not wanting her to go away when she completed her A levels, scared the relationship wouldn't survive.  
Instead of going to a far flung Uni she continued to lived at home, travelling for her lectures and seminars when they cropped up. Finding herself a waitressing job locally.

She might have gone further afield. Might have travelled. 

But she didn't. 

At 25 she moved in with him. 

They were together twelve years before they married.  
It soon became obvious why he hadn't asked her earlier.

Because he was enjoying all the perks at home whilst remaining free to go off and see other women.  
Lap dancing clubs, hotel rooms, 'business trips' to Vegas. 

She was so fucking blind. 

Around the time of their marriage he'd asked her to quit her job. The idea being that they would start a family. So he said. 

Happy. Deliriously so.  
Singing from the same hymn sheet. 

Except they weren't. 

While she remained at home as a housewife, chief cook and bottle washer, entertaining his clients and his family, he played away from home. 

Liked his porn hub too. 

When she challenged him about his lack of attention to her in the bedroom, he did two things. 

Told her he didn't see her that way......then forced himself upon her. 

So she was basically his mother.....apart from the occasional sex.....someone who was there with pipe and slippers, dinner on the table. Washing, ironing, cleaning and cooking.  
Someone who could be trotted out at functions to look respectable and beautiful.  
Nothing more than arm candy. 

He liked her to have her nails done and her hair coiffured. Make up just so. He liked her to be quiet and subservient and to speak when spoken to. Opinions were not encouraged. 

Funnily enough friends had always told her he was punching well above his weight, that he was an oddball, but her self worth was so dented by this point she couldn't take it on board. 

Taking away her job deprived her of her one remaining scrap of independence. Her own small income.

She became a house frau. Nothing more. 

There was no intention on his part to make a baby. Just another ruse to get her to do what he wanted. 

If she complained she was beaten down with words. 

_"You have a wonderful life. Holidays. A beautiful home. Plenty of money. You can buy whatever you want. Most women would kill to have that. You have everything you could possibly desire."_

Bought and paid for. Like a high class whore. 

But apparently he didn't see her as a sexual being. That's what he told her. 

She was a thing. 

When they did have sex it was always when he wanted it. Now! 

There was nothing consensual about it either. Nothing mutual. 

He liked the rough. He liked the thrill of grabbing her unawares. If she fought he liked it more. 

Four years. 

Then she discovered what he'd really been up to when he'd told her he was working late, or staying overnight because he was at a convention.  
Horrified.  
The trust was gone. 

On arrival home from their holiday in Mexico she was informed he was flying straight out to New York the next day, 'for work'. 

To see a mistress, she later discovered. 

Slowly everything was revealed. Friends had lied for him. Friends whom she thought were her friends too. 

Squirrelling money away so she couldn't touch it. Separate bank accounts. Credit cards. Bonuses hidden offshore. Passwords she was unaware of. 

Her husband installed cameras both inside and outside their home so he could 'keep an eye'. 

Watching her and phoning her a dozen times a day. 

Finding his 'secret mobile' was the clincher. Hundreds and hundreds of text messages between him and various girls. Escorts, mistresses, girlfriends. You name it. The most disgusting filth imaginable. 

Her reaction was almost hysterical. The betrayal so utterly wounding. In a rage she gathered all his clothes, all their wedding photos, hurled them into his fancy car. Called his mother. 

_'Tell him not to bother coming home.'_

But he did. 

_'To talk.'_

He looked her straight in the eye, told her he loved her. Always would. Swore that he'd end it all. Mend their marriage. Change. 

Told her anything he thought she wanted to hear. 

Then continued just as he always had. 

Like a sap she'd believed him. Taken him back, reluctant to give up on what she thought they once had. 

Lies after lies after lies. 

That's when he said it. 

_"I know you'll never leave me."_

It was a challenge. 

Laid down for her. 

Risk losing all that she had. Throw it all away. That nice home, their lifestyle, all the trappings.  
Everything that had been her life for more than fifteen years. 

Pretty much all she'd ever known. 

But it was all just 'stuff'. Material trappings. She knew that now. 

A poor substitute for a real relationship. 

She loved so deeply and unconditionally. 

But as he once again pulled her upstairs she realised she was afraid of him. 

Never had he actually threatened her. He didn't have to. His superior height and strength were enough. 

As he pressed her into the mattress and she cried, she was sure. 

It was over. 

oOo

The following day, as she sat snivelling over a coffee in Costas, bruised physically and emotionally, a good friend told her. 

"End it Liv. Get out. He's abusive and manipulative, and he's a cunt." 

Finally! 

It took that to make her accept what she already knew in her heart of hearts and had known for a while. 

To understand. 

This wasn't normal and it certainly wasn't right. 

See her marriage for what it was. A sham. 

The next day she filed for divorce. 

oOo

Lying alone, curled up in a ball in her bed, Liv let her thoughts continue to meander. 

Her boss had been angry when she'd returned late to work from Malcolm's after lunch. 

The explanation she'd given, about having met a friend who needed help was taken with a large dose of scepticism. 

"It's the truth. Believe what you like! When have I ever been late or taken time off by skiving? Or told lies? I thought you knew me better than that." 

Angrily she turned over, pummelling the pillows, glancing at the bedside clock. 

7.30am. 

On a Saturday. 

Damn it! 

Now she was wide awake......and thirsty! 

She'd hardly slept. 

Mulling over her encounter the day before with Malcolm. 

Then dredging up her past. 

Those thoughts were ever present. 

Somehow, even with the passage of time, they never really diminished. Still less fade away completely. 

Her next action after taking legal advice had been to apply for a job. 

The interview at DoSaC went well. They took her on. It was a relief to feel she was a valid human being again after those wilderness years. 

The divorce itself was just the start of a whole new level of nastiness. 

Off the fucking Richter scale. 

She never dreamed just what he could be capable of. 

Doing anything he could to slander her. Anything to intimidate. 

Fortunately she had a great solicitor. A woman, who took no crap from anyone. 

Having no money of her own she'd had to borrow from her father to pay legal her bills. 

That hurt. 

Her suit was filed on grounds of adultery. To her surprise he didn't contest it. 

She was informed that by law, for the number of years they'd been a couple, had cohabited, and been married, she was entitled to 50%. 

Of everything. 

Although that fact made her feel guilty.  
Why? 

Because she'd been conditioned to that mindset by her spouse. 

Told in no uncertain terms that she was owned. 

Her solicitor laughed and put her right. 

"A marriage is a partnership. The earning power of one over another makes no difference." 

_'With all my worldly goods I thee endow.'_

Words said at the altar. Before God. 

"No Olivia. You are not a gold digger or a anything of the sort! You're not taking him for every penny. That's nonsense. When you met him he had nothing. What he's built he's made with your help and support. That's the way the law sees it. What's his is yours. It's indivisible. It belongs equally to you both. This settlement is your future. It's your dues for the fifteen or more years you've put into it. You don't now leave with nothing and start all over again. That's not how it works." 

Her husband disagreed. 

How low did he make her feel? How small and insignificant? As if all the years they'd spent together counted for nothing. 

Turned out it wasn't her house at all. Everything was his. Nothing in her name whatever.

She was advised to go immediately to the land registry office and have her name put on the deeds of their home, as she wasn't even mentioned. 

All she actually owned were her clothes and her jewellery and a few items which had come from her own family.

Once he knew which way the wind was blowing he hired some fancy City attorney. 

There began a long and protracted fight to win her entitlement. 

By prevaricating, making excuses, being untruthful, underestimating his own monetary worth, secreting away funds, her husband sought to leave her virtually without means. 

Unfortunately for him the judge saw things differently. 

He hoped that if he fought long enough and hard enough, made things difficult enough, that eventually she'd be browbeaten sufficiently to capitulate. 

Liv didn't. 

Many, many times she just wanted to give up and walk away with the little he was prepared to give. Just to be free of him. 

He sought to retain his control over her in every way he could. 

One day, he said to her, 

"Whatever happens, we'll eventually end up back together you know. We were meant to be together. You're nothing without me."

Calculated to intimidate. 

And boy, it worked! 

Terrified.

Yet it hardened her heart. From then on, when she refused to surrender, when her solicitor countered his lawyer's thinly disguised threats as the empty words they were, he decided to fight dirty. 

Dictating what she could take from the house. Fighting her over every lamp, every fucking picture frame.  
Poisoning his family and friends against her with his falsehoods, so that she began to receive text messages from them, telling her how spiteful she was being. Forcing her to block their numbers.  
Removing them from her social media. Cutting them out of her life.  
People she'd known and been close to for more than fifteen years! 

And it didn't end there. 

Stopping her insurance payments without telling her. So that she was not covered to drive her car. Changing the locks on the door so that she had no access to her own property. Removing the gate buzzer from her key ring.  
Not meeting payments that had been specifically awarded by the courts.  
Informing the council that she owed her part of the Rates bill. Changing her married name to her maiden name without informing her when doing so.  
Keeping her letters back so that they didn't reach her. 

Whilst at the same time firing off a constant barrage of essay style text messages telling her what a mistake she was making. How cruel and heartless she was. 

Any little thing he could do. 

It had taken the best part of two years to be rid of him. To sell the property. 

To finally receive the money she was due and buy herself a small place. 

Begin to build her life again. 

Clawing her way back. 

And then.....fuck me if she didn't meet Malcolm Tucker! 

.....

Giving up on her lie in, Liv dragged herself out of bed and stomped off to make herself a cup of tea. 

Damn you Malcolm! 

She didn't need him. She didn't want him. 

He was probably at least ten years older than her. Sharp and diffident. At best cagey. At worst downright secretive. 

Damaged goods certainly. 

If she hadn't guessed that before she sure knew it now. 

For the past four months of seeing him off and on, he'd been most careful never to allow her close. 

Almost as careful as she'd been not to get too close to him....or allow him to draw close to her. 

It was almost a game. 

Circling. Keeping their distance. 

Yesterday that had changed. 

He knew it just as she did. 

His reaction was to do what she would probably have done in his place. 

Push her away. Keep her at arms length where it was safe. 

Their's was a friendship which was leading nowhere. 

It would remain just that.....or nothing. No future whatever. Just a dead end. 

Liv was glad she didn't smoke. Because had she been a smoker she'd have lit up a fag right now! 

The last thing she needed in her life now was someone like Malcolm. 

Just as she was fighting her way back to some semblance of normality. 

Someone with issues. Someone complicated. 

Huffing to herself as she poured the milk. Dunking the teabag until the colour looked right. 

Taking her first restorative sip. 

Yes, he was complicated all right. Prickly and sensitive. Vulnerable and angry with the world. 

So many things. 

Yet....there was something crazily unfathomable about him. 

He was attractive in an odd angular, pointy way. 

She liked his smile. 

His nose crinkled and the little lines at the sides of his temples.

Sometimes, when she looked into his eyes he seemed to be asking her difficult questions. Impossible to answer. 

Questions which she naturally shied away from. Would avoid at all costs if asked out loud. 

_Dare he let her in? Would she even allow it? Could she be trusted?_

_Would she hurt him as he'd been hurt so many times before?_

And probably many more which she would equally not wish to respond to at this time, which also remained unspoken between them. 

Truth was she did not know how to answer. Nor where she stood. Where _they_ stood. 

It was the oddest situation she could possibly imagine. 

Christ! 

As she swept a hand across the counter to throw the used teabag in the bin, her sleeve caught the milk carton.  
Over it went.  
A white and viscous stream cascaded across the work top, over the edge and onto the floor. 

There it trickled into every nook and cranny. Under the fridge, into the cupboards.  
Everywhere a puddle of thin watery creaminess. 

"Oh for fucks sake!" 

There was also a trail down her front and on the toes of her slippers. Soaking into the faux fur until it formed a soggy, spongy mass. 

She cursed her lack of concentration. 

She cursed her miserable lonely existence. 

She cursed Malcolm Tucker for bowling in and upsetting her newly acquired equilibrium. 

She doubted he'd even given her so much as a thought since he'd pushed her unceremoniously out of his house and firmly shut the door on her. 

Damn him. Damn him to hell!


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm is alone. He is trying to sleep....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gives a little information about Malcolm's past. 
> 
> I'm not really sure why but there are certain things I've always imagined about Malcolm.  
> 1)I've always thought of him as having an ex wife, and that there was some unpleasant memory concerned with that marriage.  
> My reasons for this are tenuous to say the least. The fact that later in the series Malcolm is suddenly sporting a wedding band, having not been wearing one at the beginning.  
> (Now, this is not necessarily anything whatever to do with the character. It could simply be Peter himself forgetting to leave his own ring in the dressing room.  
> Or it could be something that Malcolm wears to remind him of the bad times, or maybe he's married nearer the end of the show's run but wasn't at the beginning..if so....to whom??)  
> Who knows! Absolutely nothing is mentioned in the script at all. So it's open to speculation. 
> 
> 2) I've always imagined Malcolm as heterosexual. Now, this isn't to say I couldn't accept him as gay, but to my mind he's straight. It's as simple as that really.  
> He does actually _say_ he's heterosexual in the show, to Julius. Although there are moments between them in 'In The Loop' which could easily be construed as flirting. The same might be said of Jamie McDonald.  
> Although that may be banter, and there's nothing there at all.  
> There are also mentions of his relationship with Kelly Grogan in the deleted scenes.  
> However the storyline is never really followed up. He clearly thinks something of Sam, she is the one person in the whole show he treats with respect. 
> 
> So....for the purposes of this particular tale he's straight, and he has an ex wife.

CHAPTER SIX. 

_“I've always envied people who sleep easily. Their brains must be cleaner, the floorboards of the skull well swept, all the little monsters closed up in a steamer trunk at the foot of the bed.”_  
― David Benioff, City of Thieves

..........

Malcolm went to bed almost as soon as Pat left. 

He was exhausted. 

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay? Just in case...." 

"No. I'm fine now. The crisis has passed. It was a wobble. A real blow, but I'm ok. Really. You can go Pat, I'll text you or call you in the morning." 

"Lucky you had that young lass there. Did you a massive favour, that." 

A shrug. 

"Yeah." 

"Seemed like a nice girl." 

"Stop fucking fishing you old prick! She's a friend. I hardly know her, she just happened to come along." 

"Right." 

"Fuck off! Leave me alone. I'm away to ma bed." 

........

Malcolm turned over, pushing back the duvet, stubbornly awake. 

The room was dusky and dark. The whole house quiet, apart from the odd creak as the pipes cooled. 

From outside he could hear a fox rifling through his neighbour's bin. Yammering and barking with little screams to its mate. 

There was no moon. Well, at least not one you could see. Just thick banks of cloud. All the stars obscured. 

Presently it began to rain. Softly at first but then with increasing volume, until it was pouring relentlessly. 

Listening to the rhythmic plink plink of the drops in the gutter, the whoosh as a blast of air blew them into the window pane. A flurry of spatters followed by a moment of calm. 

It was soothing to the troubled mind. 

Malcolm was thankful. 

Pleased with himself too. He was still sober. He'd ridden the storm. The danger was passed. 

He knew it was partly down to Liv. Her help and support had been invaluable. 

Where did he stand with her? 

He hardly knew. 

Quite a bit younger than him he mused. Mid thirties at most. 

She had beautiful long hair which came at least half way down her back. Light brown with fairer natural highlights. A pleasant round face. Large hazel eyes. Not the deep dark chocolate brown but lighter, with a green fleck to them.  
Petite. No more than 5' 3" without heels. Bustling and efficient. Energetic, like a human dynamo. Always ready to smile. 

A dinky little thing. 

Malcolm found himself smiling. 

There was no way this was going anywhere. He couldn't imagine why it would. 

But he so enjoyed her company. She lit up a room, yet there was a gentle shyness about her. Their evenings together had been a most pleasant distraction. 

Given him back a little faith in womanhood and humanity generally. Something of which he'd found precious little in the last few years....

The sound of the rain eventually lulled him off, only to wake again less than an hour later. 

The light was still the same, an orange square on the wall by the wardrobe, from the streetlamp outside. All was quiet now, apart from the ceaseless sound of cascading water, the occasional swish of a lone car passing through the puddles. 

Thoughts of his ex wife loomed large. As usual she hit him like a punch from out of nowhere. 

In times of crisis or sorrow, or when he was at his most vulnerable, she always came back to haunt him. 

Hovering there just outside his field of vision. 

She had been beautiful too. They were young then. Both of them. 

Her ambition no less than his own. Rising stars. 

The difference was that her idea of making headway was to sleep her way to the top. 

Then try to convince him that an 'open marriage' was the way to go. 

Malcolm sat up, pushing back the bedcovers. 

It still made him feel nauseous even now. All these years later. 

What had been worse was finding out that everyone else knew and he didn't. The ultimate humiliation. 

In the dark. Much as he was right now. 

Rubbing both hands up and across his face, into his hair, he yawned, surrendered to wakefulness. 

Sliding his legs out of the bed. Finding his dressing gown, padding downstairs to make peppermint tea. 

He drank a lot of tea these days.  
Tried his best to limit his caffeine intake. Although, at No 10 that wasn't easy. 

When at home, however, he mostly drank ordinary tea during the day. Supplementing it with herbal infusions in the evening or at night.  
Finding he actually quite liked green, peppermint, fennel or ginger. They were perfectly drinkable, acceptable substitutes. 

Dunking the bag in the cup briefly, his eyes roamed the half lit room, settling on his framed mantra. 

_"If you're still here, still alive and still sober then you're extremely blessed."_

He was. 

He was lucky. 

Back upstairs. 

Between the cool sheets. 

Still sleep eluded him. 

Switching on his radio, he found a drama on Radio Four Extra. It was the kind of narrated episode that he could half listen to and which might just send him off....

She'd broken his fucking heart. 

Shattering him in the process. Her coldness towards him in the end was the icicle which fatally pierced him. 

Malcolm did nothing by halves. There was no point doing a thing if you weren't going to throw yourself into it with all your soul. 

That was how he loved too. 

Completely. Total devotion. 

A one woman man. 

Work hard, look after your wife. Cherish her with everything you have. That was the old fashioned idiom he'd grown up with. It was instilled into him from a young age. 

Times change. 

It hurt him even more that she couldn't be honest with him. She didn't love him, she was fond of him, wanted to spare his finer feelings she said. 

It was laughable. 

Lied, more like. 

He filed for divorce, although it was against everything he'd ever believed in. 

Then it turned nasty. 

'A woman scorned.....'

For more than a year they'd wrangled. His pain as strong now as it had ever been. Love turning to hatred. The acid bitterness burning away every synapse connected to any form of affection.  
Cauterised so effectively that he felt he'd never feel that way about anyone again. 

Betrayal. Spurned. Made to feel two feet tall. What a sap!  
His pride, his self worth, his confidence gone. 

Along with his home and most of his possessions. 

Never would he let himself open up like that again. 

It was a long way down.

Solace was found at the bottom, in a bottle. 

Numbing him. 

It became his prop. 

For almost a year he drank so that he could blot it all out. Only to find the pain returned as soon as he was sober. 

Finally he was forced to seek help. Knowing it would be curtains if he didn't. 

He was fortunate. There was someone there to catch him when he fell. 

And fall he did. Spectacularly. It was touch and go for a while there. 

Yet he made it through. 

Cleaned up his act. Got himself back on the rails. 

But at such a cost. 

A changed man.

Tough as nails. Sharp tongued and bitter. Not trusting. Not allowing anyone in. Caustic to all and sundry.  
His reputation forged in the fires of the hell that was now his life. 

Alone. 

The loneliness fuelled him. Fired him up and drove him on relentlessly. Rage was his ignition. 

Work. Home. Sleep. Work. Home. Sleep. 

Any dalliances he had were brief affairs. If anyone tried to get close he ended the relationship forthwith.  
Women came and went in rapid succession. 

When he realised how unfulfilling this behaviour was, he ceased that too. 

Better off by himself. 

Then he went to a stupid fucking DoSaC party.....

Met a lovely girl sitting on a stool with no one to talk to. Staring forlornly into her empty glass. 

Bought her a drink......

Remembered her the next day....and the next......

Malcolm's eyelids drifted down. Heavy. The sound of the voice by his bed smooth as silk. 

She was too young for him. That was clear. The last thing he needed. Someone with baggage. A past. Issues. 

And yet......

Who didn't have these things? 

None of his other rather tawdry affairs had begun like this. It was odd. 

There was no sign of her wanting to move in on him. No real enthusiasm at all. 

Yet, there was _something_....

And they kept meeting. 

Bumping into each other. 

Or outside circumstances caused them to meet. 

It was all most disturbing. 

Turning onto his side, Malcolm bought his knees up and snuggled into the pillows. 

He was warm. Comfortable. Sleepy. 

Outside the soft rain still tinkled on the rooftop over his head. 

It was Saturday. 

_'Forget about her now. She won't be back. You've just summarily pushed her out of your house and shut the door on her.'_

_'You're such a cunt Malcolm Tucker. You don't deserve any friends at all.'_

_'Let alone a nice young woman, who is kind to you when she has no reason to be.'_

_'She could have walked passed and eaten her sandwiches elsewhere. But she didn't.'_

_'There's genuine warmth there. She seems to like you. You like her.....'_

A sigh left him. 

Floating away on the edge of a dream. 

A dream where he was at peace.....

.......with the world and with himself. 

Perfectly. 

A dream where he wasn't lying here like a foetus all by himself......

.......where someone lay curled beside him, breathing softly. 

Her long brown hair spread out on the pillow.....


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm does something stupid and Liv is not amused!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously I've played heavily on the scene here where Malcolm returns to DoSaC on his first day back, having met with Julius. He's aware of what's coming next for Steve Fleming and knows he's won, but at this time there's very little triumph in his demeanour. If anything he seems weary of it all, having struggled with his own demons. 
> 
> I always thought the change in him was quite stark. Beautifully played by Peter, who gave him a whole new persona and an almost touching vulnerability. 
> 
> It's one of my favourite scenes.

CHAPTER SEVEN. 

_“There are so many things that I want so badly to tell you but I just can't.”_  
― Nina LaCour, Hold Still

...........

There was a distinct buzz around the office. 

Oliver Reader had been careering around like a headless chicken. 

Malcolm was back! 

Liv had heard nothing whatever from him in the interim. 

No word at all. 

Just the tumbleweed blowing through the deserted prairie town. 

She decided it was best to leave him. If he wanted her he knew where she was, and how to get in touch. 

He didn't. 

Rumours were rife. 

_'He's had a breakdown. Gone away abroad somewhere. He's shut himself up in his house and refused to come out. He's been to the BBC for an interview, but walked out.'_

Utter nonsense or speculation.

All of which Liv ignored. 

Then, someone spotted him at No 10 with Julius Nicholson. Late one night. 

Next thing, there he was. 

Walking into the interview suite at DoSaC with a PC World carrier bag in his hand. 

Everyone scattering like terrified meerkats. Bolting for their burrows. 

But he was strangely different. 

Ollie was astonished. 

"It's like he's been to the vet and had his knackers done."

Liv kept her head down and her trap shut. She did not join in the ribaldry and cruel jibes. Nor did she offer comment as to where he'd been or what he might have been doing.  
Nasty bunch of gossips! 

Around 10 o'clock an Interflora delivery man with a bouquet of beautiful flowers held carefully before him in both hands, walked purposefully through the foyer and was directed up to Olivia's floor. 

Everyone's head's were raised rapidly from their screens. Suddenly alert. Watching with interest as he picked his way among the desks and between the work stations. 

Who might he be heading for? 

You could almost feel the tingle of expectation and excitement. 

No one was more surprised than she when he stopped beside her. 

In fact she almost shied away, waiting for him to ask where so and so was. 

"Miss Williams?" 

Liv nodded dumbly. Startled. 

"These are for you." 

He placed the water filled box down amongst her paperwork and turned away. 

"Er.....thank you.....but who....?" She was confused. She was also on the receiving end of many protracted and envious stares from her colleagues. 

"There's a card." He responded briskly, and threaded a path back the way he'd come. 

Rising, she pulled the missive out from amongst the foliage. Opening the small envelope. 

The message in a strong, firm hand, written himself in black sharpie and not dictated to the florist over the phone.

 _"Just to say thank you. Sorry I'm such a cunt. M. "_

Colouring heavily, she slipped the card into her pocket quickly, as her workmates gathered round. 

"Wow! Liv. Who are they from?" 

"Do you have an admirer?" 

"It's not your birthday is it? Only you never said?" 

Flustered beyond imagination, she managed to stammer out a reply. 

"Er, no....they're just from a friend....." 

"How lovely!" 

"Aren't you lucky!" 

"Someone has a very good friend then!" 

"My, but you're a dark horse and no mistake...I didn't even know you were seeing someone..."

"Pink roses....my favourite..." 

Gradually they filtered away, returning to their desks. 

Liv's face still burned. 

What to make of such a gesture? So unexpected. After more than a week of silence. 

 

oOo

At coffee time Liv made her escape. 

Heading down the stairs to the abode of Terri Coverley and co. 

It was not often she was required to come to this floor but when she did she was always struck by the apparent lack of anything being done. 

On this peculiar day everything seemed in even more turmoil than usual. Probably due to Malcolm's sudden reappearance. 

The minister, Nicola Murray, was ensconced in her office talking animatedly to Ollie and the others. 

No one noticed Liv as she hurried passed. 

On this particular level the walls were all glass. Each room could see inside all the others, or from almost anywhere else on the floor.  
Nowhere to hide. 

She could see him. 

In the interview suite. 

Laptop open, tapping away diligently. 

His eyes lifted as she approached. 

Spotting her long before she reached the door. 

For a moment she fancied she saw him give a peeved expression, but if she did, it vanished as quickly as it appeared. 

His outward appearance was so altered. 

It was as if he'd been washed clean. 

The face freshly scrubbed, shaved and glowing pink. Hair trimmed shorter than normal, almost shorn quite close to his head, coming to a point on his forehead. Sideburns neat. The back so sharp cut that it lay completely flat. Instead of its usual slightly ruffled look, it was now almost smooth. Somehow appearing darker. Less grey.  
The shortness also emphasised his large nose, making his face seem thinner.

But it was the eyes which were most striking.  
So clear and green. 

A slight redness around the lashes. Perhaps a last vestige of tiredness. But otherwise breathtaking. 

They pierced her like twin lasers, stopping her in her tracks. 

Everything Liv had rehearsed to say on her way down in the lift evaporated into a stunned silence. 

The two regarding each other over the top of the computer screen for several seconds. 

Eventually, as if to break the spell, he rose slowly. Resting his knuckles on the desk on either side of the keyboard. 

She noted the well cut suit was also missing as she scanned him. 

The dress of the day was a classy fine knit charcoal sweater, with a collar and button front. It fitted him beautifully and looked very expensive. Enhancing the colour of his eyes.  
Casual navy wool trousers, belted at the waist completed the transformation. 

It was like standing in front of a stranger. 

"I.....er....." She stammered. Now at a loss for words. 

Still he wouldn't help her out, remaining mute. 

Just leaning there, his finger joints whitening with the pressure as he leant forward onto them. 

"You sent me flowers." She managed finally. Finding her voice again. The statement almost barked out, brisk and pointed. 

"Yes." 

Her anger at him was fading by the second, yet she struggled to hang on to it. 

"A text to let me know you were okay would have done." 

His eyebrows furrowed, the steady gaze flickering slightly. 

"Didn't know what to say, after the way I behaved. Hoped they'd say it for me." 

The look was hopeful, soon to be dashed. 

"Made quite a stir in the office. I'm the subject of everyone's gossip and idle curiosity now.....thanks to you." 

Her sternness faltered even as she tried to strengthen it, captured by those intense eyes. Nevertheless she continued undaunted. 

"I didn't expect anything Malcolm. I don't _expect_ at all. You wanted me gone from your house. You made that perfectly clear. It's fine. I understand. But I don't want flowers. I don't want anything from you, except perhaps honesty. All you've achieved in sending them is thoroughly embarrassing me in front of my colleagues. What the hell were you thinking?" 

Releasing her from his gaze, he lowered himself back into the chair, then looked up at her again. 

"I'm sorry." He muttered. "It was just a gesture, I thought you'd be pleased. I thought we were friends." 

Her laugh was one of derision. 

"I thought we were too!" She scoffed. "I thought you wanted....no, _needed_.....my help. I offered it willingly. Without conditions. Then you push me out and don't contact me for well over a week....." 

"I was busy....." he cut in. 

"Too busy to text? It takes seconds Malcolm. Don't fucking bullshit me! At least have the decency to be truthful."

"I went to AA support meetings, then an interview, afterwards I got the call from Nicholson. I was trying to get my head straight. Trying to claw my way back. I didn't know what to say to you in a text....nothing seemed appropriate for the appalling way I treated you....." 

"So you decided on a fucking great bouquet of roses?" 

A diffident shrug....

"Well....yeah....." 

"A wildly extravagant gesture. A cop out. You send stuff like that to your wife when you've had a row....or your lover.....your partner.....I'm none of those things! In fact, I don't even know what I am....not to you at any rate. Are we even friends? Are we anything? Apparently I'm someone you send random guilt trip flowers to...." 

Malcolm's mien changed, turning irrepressibly sad. Hanging his head, almost in shame. His tone subdued, almost inaudible. 

"I'm sorry they were unwelcome to you. I'm sorry I'm a cunt. I don't really know what else to say." 

Liv huffed her annoyance and frustration. 

"Just a simple 'thank you' would have been sufficient." 

Turning on her heel, she made to walk away. As she retreated he called after her. 

"I suppose dinner is out of the question?" 

"Fuck you, Malcolm."


	8. Chapter Eight.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liv is out and about on a normal Saturday.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter which gives an insight into Liv's day. Or more particularly, a weekend day. 
> 
> She is perfectly content, and really hasn't thought too much about Malcolm since her set to with him over the flowers.

CHAPTER EIGHT. 

_“I care for myself. The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will respect myself.”_  
― Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

...........

 

Liv would never describe herself as lonely. 

Loneliness, for her, was a state of mind, rather than a condition. 

There had been very few times since her divorce when she would admit to feeling it. 

Being alone and being lonely were not the same. 

Whilst the one is rather sad, the other could be most pleasurable. 

Her coping strategy? (Not that she really needed one).

Liv loved books. Plain and simple. 

You are never alone if you have a good book. 

This had been the case ever since she could remember. Being an only child did not condemn one to the insular, solitary life. One does not miss what one never had.   
She had plenty of friends as a youngster and was not unpopular at school. 

But reading.....reading was the gift which kept on giving. 

In times of trauma or upset, in moments where real life companions were not around or had let her down.....a book was as good as a friend. 

With each fresh purchase she felt herself blessed. 

To open the first fly leaf of a brand new story. Allowing her in, to enter and become immersed in a world of whatever the volume contained. 

Pirates and fairies. Travel and adventure. Sadness and joy. Love and loss. Life and death. A child's delight. 

All through the passing years. 

It was all there. In microcosm. Every nuance of emotion, very moment spent between the crisp white pages, filling her mind and expanding it to new horizons. 

Firing her imagination to dizzy heights. 

'Twas ever thus. 

Nowadays things were a little different. 

She was a grown up now. No longer did she need to crouch under the covers with a torch, well after 'lights out'. Just so she could finish her chapter. Or escape to the library for a blissful hour or two in the reading room. There was no one to admonish her for being 'boring' or a bookworm. No one to tell her she was neglecting other pursuits whilst burying her nose in her latest volume. 

Now, she could find a pleasant coffee shop, or a bench in the park in sunshine or dappled shade. Sometimes perhaps, the window seat on a train, or the top deck of the bus. Occasionally, when travelling further afield, by the sea or in the countryside. 

In these hallowed places, she could combine her two greatest loves.

Reading and people watching. 

Olivia was a natural observer. 

Alert, with an enquiring mind, there was little that escaped her keen eye, or her sharp ears. 

Cupping her hands around the large cappuccino mug, she was watching and listening now. 

From her favourite corner of _'Patisserie Valerie'._

A veritable haven of sights and aromas. 

Chequered table cloths, gleaming metal on the retro barista machine. The counter filled with delicious goodies. A rich scent of coffee beans, mingled with the honeyed sweetness of cakes and pastries. 

Her book open on the table beside her cup. 

_'A Woman in White.' Wilkie Collins._

It was a tale she'd read several times before, but the dark romance of a Victorian gothic novel remained a firm favourite. 

Right now though, her eyes lifted from the page, scanning the bustling throng around her and revelling in every small detail which played out for her entertainment. Snatches of conversation, laughter, whispered words all mingled with the gentle music playing in the background. 

All combining to provide a most pleasant distraction. 

A young, lovey-dovey couple on the adjacent table. Their hands clasped in the centre over their latte's.  
Words of quiet endearment. Gazing into each other's eyes steadily.  
On the girl's finger, a pretty ring which she fiddled with constantly. Enamoured by its newness. Her cheeks flushed and excited. The obvious fiancé leaning forward to touch his lips to hers. 

"You're beautiful." He murmured, with heavy emphasis. 

Liv found herself smiling. 

Across from her a young black woman with the most beautiful complexion she'd ever seen. Her hair pulled back sleek and tight into the centre of her head, tied, then a long coal black plait snaking down and over one shoulder. Elegant, dangling pewter earrings, and a burnt orange top which complimented her skin colouring perfectly. Beside her, drawn up, was a high chair. In which was seated the most adorable chubby child. A bambino. Perhaps just under a year.  
Literally edible.  
A fluff of tight Afro curls, little hands clutching a Tupperware container of carrot batons, which he proceeded to masticate into oblivion with concentrated intent. 

Having spotted her and made eye contact, the little one commenced turning himself for a better view. Head swivelling towards her alarmingly. Almost like an owl. Leaning over with a babble to secure her attention.  
Chancing a smile, Liv was rewarded with a carroty orange grin, all gums and few teeth....and the offer to share his repast, held out in a sticky, saliva plastered hand. 

"The lady doesn't want your snacks Ty." The woman said, smiling at Liv herself. 

"He's adorable." She replied, giving the boy a wave. 

"He is! But he's forever hungry!" Saying this, she produced another container, this time containing grapes, which distracted her son conveniently, if momentarily. 

Again, Liv received the preferment of a somewhat soggy green offering. 

"No thank you. You eat it! It's yours sweetie." 

The fruit ended up on the floor. Which was the signal to break the connection.  
The mother scrabbling down to retrieve the droppings, then liberally utilising the ubiquitous wet wipe on both the little ones face and fingers. 

Liv returned to her book. 

Zoning out.

Reaching for her cup handle without looking up, sipping, then replacing it upon its saucer. Nibbling her biscotti but not dunking it. 

Around her the hubbub seemed to fall away. 

Only vaguely aware of the metallic clang of the coffee holder as it was filled and banged flat before slotting into place. A whoosh of steam making a fragrant cloud in the air, followed by the satisfying frothing, bubbling hum as the milk was heated.  
Tap, tap goes the jug in the background. Then the snowy layer poured on. Chink went the stencil.  
This time a twin heart in chocolate powder. 

Was there anything nicer? 

How easy it was to become lost in this little world. How enjoyable to have this time. Sounds and sights and smells all creating a sense of well-being. 

Replacing her bookmark as she finished her chapter, Liv looked up once again. 

The young couple and the black woman were gone. 

New customers had taken their places. 

A man in a trench coat with his young daughter. Her smiling mouth coated with sugar crystals from a large doughnut almost as big as her face.  
An elderly woman with white hair, whose arthritic hand trembled as she lifted her cup. Ensconced in carefully cutting her almond slice into neat equal sized squares. Before posting them into her mouth one by one. Barely leaving a crumb. 

Liv sighed. 

Time to go. 

Rising, scraping back her chair.  
Gathering together her bits and pieces. 

Pushing her arms into the sleeves of her coat, tying her scarf. Stowing the precious book into her bag. 

Out onto the teeming street she burst. The cool air hitting her after the almost stifling, comforting warmth inside. 

Her bicycle chained to the stand outside. 

It had recently rained.

How fortunate she'd placed a carrier bag over her saddle. She smiled to herself at her own foresight. 

The pavement looked polished. Shiny and new. Puddles here and there, which other pedestrians skirted around as they hurried along. Bustling as they do, with intent and purpose, going about their daily routine. 

Kids on scooters. Women with umbrellas still up, even though the rain had ceased. Baby buggies, men unloading pallets of goods to the shops. Dogs on telescopic leads winding their way through the throng with their owners hanging on for dear life, trotting in their wake.  
So much life! 

Deciding to walk rather than ride, she wheeled her cycle through the crowds with some difficulty. 

On the corner she paused at the florist. An emporium which never failed to attract her. 

A bell over the door rang as she walked inside. The scent of so many blooms assaulting the nostrils. 

She chose a mixed bunch, added some gypsophila. The tiny white pinpricks were like snowflakes in amongst the other flowers.  
Most pleasing. 

The roses Malcolm had bought her were long since withered and discarded, but having a vase of something in the house made a cheerful interlude. 

Having paid and waited whilst the bouquet was wrapped, Liv headed onwards. 

Pedalling now, weaving with a practiced air through the busy London traffic. Overhead the sky cleared.  
Clouds parting, moving aside to allow the sun to peep through. 

The flowers bouncing in her front pannier basket. 

Another brief stop for fruit and veg, milk, eggs and cheese, before heading homeward. 

The break in the weather proved temporary. 

By the time Liv wheeled her bike up the front path to her home, the first spits of a fresh shower were upon her. 

Just in time to hurry indoors before the deluge. Man-handling her cycle into the narrow hallway. 

Once inside her little sanctuary, she shucked off damp coat and boots, unpacked her purchases, found a vase and some scissors and arranged her floral display, cutting the stems carefully. 

Satisfied, she carried her creation to the table and placed it in the centre. Stepping back to admire her handiwork. 

It suddenly occurred to her that she felt contentment. 

Yes. 

Her life was not so bad. It had both meaning and purpose. 

Here, and now, she saw the solitude as a blessing. 

She was not lonely. 

Another realisation dawned on her. The thing she'd been unconsciously searching for. 

Tranquility of mind. 

Recognising that state. Embracing it.

Knowing it for what it was. 

Like someone familiar walking towards you through a mist. 

For some reason, on this day, at this time, it had become clear. 

Her oneness did not define her. 

Being by herself was alright. On a weekend, as now, there were so many things she could do. Places she could go should she choose.....and if she didn't choose, then that was equally fine.  
Her home was a warm and welcoming cocoon. 

A cup of tea and a book by the fire on a wet winters afternoon were just as exciting as anything else in her imagination. 

It didn't matter. 

There were thousands like her. 

She was one of the lucky ones. 

A smile flicked across her lips, a grateful sigh as she sank down onto the sofa. Stretching out her furry slippered feet in front of her.  
Later she would make herself a delicious Spanish omelette with her fresh purchases. A crisp salad and a chilled glass of wine to accompany. 

Yes. Life was good. 

She was not lonely at all....

The sound of her doorbell urgently ringing made her almost jump out of her skin. 

It drilled through her brain almost painfully. Echoing down the silent hallway. Shattering her thoughts as it did so. 

"Good god!" She breathed. "Who the hell can that be?" 

She could see and recognise the silhouette before she even opened the front door. 

It was Malcolm Tucker.


	9. Chapter Nine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm is having a heart to heart with his faithful secretary. She gives him a few home truths!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Malcolm post 'onion bhaji' meeting with Julius Nicholson. He's back, he's given his 'let's set fire to tears' speech and now he's alone. 
> 
> (A General Election has been called by Prime Minister Tom. One that Malcolm knows The Party can't win.)
> 
> This chapter takes place the day BEFORE the last one.

CHAPTER NINE. 

_".....being alone never felt right. Sometimes it felt good, but it never felt right."_ Charles Bukowski. 

.........

It was odd how politics invariably reflected life. 

Well his at any rate. 

Malcolm was musing.

Seated at his desk, which he knew wouldn't be his desk much longer. 

He was back certainly, but now Tom had called the General Election, he was well aware that his days were numbered.....

....but back to musing.....

Politics and life.....

One moment you were the darling of the entire country. Feted and bolstered. Riding the tallest wave on your surf board, perfectly balanced, in your most alluring, figure hugging swim trunks, looking like a fucking God. 

The next you were tipped forwards by a freak breaker, catapulted head first into the briny and your bathing costume was one of those fucking knitted jobbies which stretched to twice the size when wet, so that on emerging you resembled a drowned cat and your fishing tackle was hanging out. 

A rollercoaster. 

Highs and lows. 

Ups and downs. 

Malcolm had experienced plenty of both. 

Soon he would be swapping his swanky office at Number Ten for the ignominy of the Norman Shaw buildings.  
It was a dead cert. 

No way they'd win. 

In Opposition they'd have no power at all. No one would be listening to their pathetic cries. The weeping of the dispossessed and disenfranchised he'd always tried to champion, would be drowned out by those on a relentless march to fill their own pockets.  
Somehow the richest always seemed to wriggle free.....it was the hardest working, those in the middle, they were the ones who paid.  
They worked hard all their lives. Stayed within the Law. Paid their taxes. Strived to better themselves and make a more comfortable life, only to be squeezed from every direction. 

Would there ever be a reckoning? 

Malcolm very much doubted it, since those at the very top were so powerful. So slippery. They never seemed to be hurt. Always able to find a loophole. Find a way to stash the cash.  
Hiding it or piling it up, sitting on top of it, whilst the poor became poorer. 

He'd just delivered his 'let's set fire to tears' rallying call to the faithful. 

Feeling for all the world like some fucking Presbyterian Evangelist. A latter day John Knox. Preaching to the converted. 

Oh well! 

He sighed. 

It was all so much rhetoric anyway. 

Meaningless really. 

His moment in the spotlight was over. Obscurity beckoned. 

These melancholy thoughts were interrupted by a gentle knock. 

"Come in!" 

Sam's head appeared around the door frame. 

"Hi Sam!" 

"Thought you'd like a coffee...." 

"You're a star. I'm as dry as a chip." 

His faithful PA entered quietly, placing the cup in front of him. 

"That was some speech." 

"It's all bollocks." 

"You think we're fucked then?" 

"Up every orifice." 

Sam Cassidy winced. 

"You look tired Malcolm." 

"I'm completely fucking cream crackered." 

"Go home then. There's nothing more to be done here....not today at any rate." 

"Sam?" 

"What is it?" 

She lowered herself into a chair opposite him, her face filled with concern. 

"When we lose, and it all goes tits up.....and it will.....will you still be my PA? You're about the only friend I've got in this shithole, and the only one I trust." 

The smile he received eased his troubled mind. 

"Of course I will Malc. You don't even have to ask." 

"Thanks Sam. I appreciate it." 

"Malcolm, go home! Get some rest." 

Her boss yawned, running both hands up and into his hair. 

"I will. But there's something I have to do first. Someone I need to see. I owe an apology, and it can't be put off. I'm a cunt you see, Sam. Just that....a cunt. I turn everything I touch into poison." 

Rising, the young woman shook her head. 

"That's not true Malc." 

He waved a dismissive hand. 

"Yes. Yes it is. I was at a low ebb the other week, after the Fleming debacle. She was there to offer help, and I pushed her away. Literally. Out the door. It was reprehensible." 

Sam's eyebrows rose independently into two curious arches. 

_"She?"_

Malcolm blushed then rolled his eyes. 

"It's not what you think....it's not anything....she's just someone I met...we're friends....I think....at least we were....but I keep making an arse of myself. Treating her like shit, when she was nothing but kind to me. I don't deserve a friend like that." 

As he raised his eyes to meet her steady gaze, Malcolm could hardly bare the thinly disguised anger he saw there. 

"Ah, I see!" She snapped, giving him a sharp glare. "Yet another incidence of Malcolm Tucker shying away from any form of relationship, no matter how platonic?" 

He gave a shrug of feigned nonchalance, but it was lost on the all seeing Samantha Cassidy. She was not fooled for a moment. 

"What is it with you?" She continued, folding her arms high across her chest. "Just what are you so afraid of?" 

Malcolm laughed, then commenced pacing about the room. His arms waving with extravagant gestures. 

"You know darn well what I'm fucking afraid of! You're probably the only one who really does!" He turned, eyes blazing. "Not going down that fucking route again Sam. I've told you before. It's the road to destruction. It's the highway to heartache. The fucking boulevard of doom!" 

Crossing the room rapidly, manoeuvring herself to face him, his young PA placed her hands on his forearms. Gripping tight and preventing his manic movement. 

"Malcolm! For God's sake! Not all women are like your revolting ex wife. _I'M_ not. Plenty of others aren't! How long are you going to bloody torture yourself like this? It's painful to witness." 

To her surprise, he didn't pull back. Standing still. Regarding with consternation her fingers wrapped tightly around his sleeves.  
His face pale and taut. 

"You know what I went through. You _SAW_ it. Can't go through all that again Sam. I'll be pushing up the fucking daisies. It took so long to sort myself out. How can I trust any female ever again?"

The eyes seemed to water, becoming red around the rims. His whole frame seemed to tremble with the effort of keeping himself calm. 

One small palm came to rest against his chest gently. Causing a look of panic and alarm. 

"Oh Malc!" She whispered, splaying her fingers over his heart. "You dear man! You do it by making a leap of faith. By being the bravest you've ever been. By having the courage to trust your instincts. No one ever said it'd be bloody EASY." 

Placing his own hand over hers, he resolutely removed it, his fingers clasping hers loosely. 

"I can't." He muttered sorrowfully. 

Sam trapped that cold shaking hand between both of her own, transferring some warmth. Imprisoning it firmly. There was no escape. 

"It's a gamble Malcolm. A risk. You are the Zen master of risk taking. The denizen of the thrill seekers. On a daily basis you place your arse on the line for this goddamn Party. You never think twice. You pour yourself into your work with reckless abandon. Time and time again. Why can't you do the same just once in your private life?" 

He seemed to capitulate. Sinking back into his chair with a puff, taking her down with him and onto her knees as he did so. 

"Because I'm scared Sam....and if that gets out I'll fucking know it came from you." 

The plain honesty and feeling in her face was clear to see. She ignored his silly accusation. Looking up at him earnestly from her crouched position. Still clutching his fingers. 

"Of course you're scared you idiot! Everyone is! I realise you don't want to be hurt again. Don't want to endure all the pain you felt before. Christ....I've seen you at your very lowest ebb Malc. Times when I honestly thought you might not make it. But you did!" 

Releasing her hold she got to her feet and marched up and down in front of him, turning from time to time as she made her point. 

"You are so much stronger than you imagine! Look how you've beaten the booze. Made a new life for yourself....look how far you've come! You're so ready for this now, to let someone in, to love someone again......you can't keep pushing people away forever. The loneliness is crippling you, making you bitter and acerbic, and that's not you Malcolm. It's not you at all. You are a force of nature! Intelligent, witty and so full of life! Capable of such love! And all that is going to waste. All you need is the right person with which to share all those wonderful things...." 

"Ha!" Malcolm scoffed. "Yes.....that's all! Piece of piss. I can just see them all now, all those women....just forming an orderly queue! All desperate to be with the devastatingly handsome fucker, the eligible bachelor that is Malcolm Tucker!"

Now it was Sam's turn to stifle exasperated amusement. 

"Well, good God you bloody fool....." she cried. "....they are not going to prostrate themselves at your feet for fucks sake! You have to get off your arse and DO something!" 

"Open up you mean? Leave myself vulnerable to being trampled all over again? No thanks Sam. I can't deal with it!" 

He was again standing now, his back to her. Leaning against the wall, both palms pressed flat, arms rigidly holding himself at an angle. 

"Oh _Malcolm_!" 

She forcibly turned him to face her once more. Almost in tears. 

"Can I hug you?"

Shaking his head to the negative he backed away until he could go no further. Hands up to ward her off. 

"I'm good thanks." He protested. 

With a sigh she gave in. Moving out of his personal space. The moment lost. 

"Ok. Not welcome. I get it. Not even from a trusted friend. I won't attempt it again." 

Crossing to the door, she opened it and turned back one final time. 

"You keep your guard up Malcolm! Spurn all comfort and help. Keep yourself aloof, cold and unloved. Eventually you'll sink in the mire of your own creating, and when you do, come and find me again, I'll be there for you, I'll give you a damn hug, I'll be your friend, no matter what....... _you_ may have given up on yourself but I'll not do the same. NEVER!" 

The door clicked to behind her, and Malcolm let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. 

"Oh Holy fuck!" He whispered. 

oOo

Seldom had Malcolm been more grateful to close his own front door on the world. 

Weary beyond comprehension. 

His home was his castle. A bastion of comfort and quiet. 

Like a bird feathering it's nest he moved through the rooms, drawing the curtains, switching on lamps. 

Shoes levered off, coat on the hall rack, keys in the tray on the stand. 

The warmth inside was a pleasant hit, coming in from the cold. 

Once in the kitchen he pressed the kettle button and loosened his tie. Pulling it off and letting it drop to the table. 

Tonight he would cook. 

On a Friday night he liked to make something nice for himself. Often, there wasn't time in the week, or he was too tired.  
This evening there was all the time in the world. 

While the water boiled for tea, he unpacked the items he'd stopped off to buy on the way home. 

Fresh fish. A bunch of parsley, green and pungent. Vegetables, potatoes. A bottle of tonic water, a lime and other sundry items. 

Tying a striped apron around his lower half, he prepared the ingredients ready for the oven, made his tea and carried it through to the lounge. 

A rapid flick through the tv channels confirmed to him that there was absolutely nothing worth watching, so he put on some quiet background music instead. 

As the soothing chords wafted around him, he leaned back into the cushions and closed his eyes. 

What a day! 

Idly he relived his conversation with Sam. 

He knew she was right of course, that dear girl, but that thought stirred him to anger. Not with her, but with himself....and the world in general. 

Disturbed by this latest inner turmoil Malcolm slammed down his empty cup, stumped up the stairs and into the bathroom. 

Plug in, taps on. 

Pouring a capful of 'muscle soak' he held it under the flow of water until an aroma of wintergreen filled the room. 

Stripping himself, Malcolm felt like a supplicant preparing for a sacred ritual. 

Clothes fell in a heap on the floor. Discarded without thought or care. 

It took a few moments to lower himself into the depths. 

Swirls of steam rising and curling around his nakedness. The bathwater was deep....and hot, almost scaldingly so. 

Resting his head back, arms stretched along the rolled top of the tub, he gave in. 

The sensation of mentally sinking, whilst at the same time being bodily buoyant. Feet pressed against the far end to maintain his position. 

The warmth seeped into his knees, creeping upwards as if he were being dipped in molten metal. 

A sigh of contentment. Eyes fluttering shut. 

Malcolm wallowed. 

Cocooned by the water's heat. Gradually his body relaxed more and more, until he became almost fluid himself.  
Beads of sweat pricked his temples, running down his face, forming little pathways around his nose and down his cheeks.  
The taste was salty on his lips. 

Easing away the cares of the day. Lost in fragrant forgetfulness. 

Immersed like this he felt the flowing form of the water all around him. Seeping into the pores of his skin.  
It reddened as if scarified. Smarting slightly but in a good way. The feeling almost a punishment but one he could easily bear. 

In spite of his tiredness and his state of relaxation, his mind felt strangely sharp and alert. 

The sudden clarity was quite a revelation. 

He would go to see Liv. Apologise properly. If she'd let him. 

Sam was right. Of course she was. She knew him probably as well as anyone. He trusted her judgement. 

Settling himself a tad deeper. Jaw slackened. The water lapping up the back of his neck. 

Like being in a floatation tank. Unable to perceive light from dark. Wet from dry. 

Surrounded as if in an embrace. His whole body tingled with it. 

Somewhere he detected an undefined longing. 

His solitude was all consuming. It choked his time when not at work. 

Malcolm had never allowed himself to think of his existence as lonely. He was doing so much more than just 'being'.  
Yet he felt that stark singularity more now than ever. 

The human need for companionship. Fellowship with another.  
Without it he did not thrive.  
There was an emptiness which he could not fill, no matter how hard he worked or for how long.  
Whether he slept for two hours or eight. 

Something had to give. 

He knew that now. As surely as he knew anything. 

As if this realisation bought him back into himself, his eyes opened lazily. Slowly returning from the realm of thoughts and dreams.  
The water had begun to cool.  
His finger tips and toes wrinkled. 

Giving a wide, cavernous yawn, he rose up like a salmon. 

Glistening, dripping, the water level in the tub sinking as his weight was removed. 

Stepping out onto the bathmat. Giving a shudder. Wrapping himself hurriedly in a hot towel from the heated rail. 

Cleansed. 

Almost like a newborn. 

"You need to get off your arse Tucker. Take advice for once!" He muttered to himself. 

Tomorrow. 

Tomorrow was Saturday. 

He would do something then. Go to Liv's house. 

His mind was made up.


	10. Chapter Ten.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm calls round to say sorry.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter the two protagonists reach an agreement, find where they both stand and cement a pact of friendship.   
> It's not necessarily the final frontier, but it's a start, and they both seem at ease with the result.   
> Progress!

CHAPTER TEN. 

_“Women can resist a man's love, a man's fame, a man's personal appearance, and a man's money, but they cannot resist a man's tongue when he knows how to talk to them.”_  
― Wilkie Collins, The Woman in White

.............

She almost didn't open the door. 

It would have been so easy just to creep back down the hallway and hide in the kitchen until he gave up and went away. 

A moments hesitation. Coming to a decision....

He was standing on the step. Hands in pockets. 

As the door swung back he looked up hopefully. Resembling a child who'd called to ask for his ball back.  
Unsure as to whether to chance a smile. 

Instead he opted for contrition. 

"Hi." 

As an opener it left much to be desired. 

Liv regarded him with a rather aggressive, questioning gaze. 

Watching him squirm. 

How cruel she was! 

Taking pity on him she opened the door a little wider. 

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" She ventured. 

The expression changed. The eyes flashed momentarily as if a fire was briefly kindled, before flickering out and dying under her hard stare. 

"I came to apologise properly. I came to see if you still wanted to be friends. I do...but if you don't, tell me to fuck off and I'll leave and never darken your door again!" 

Liv found herself smiling, in spite of her misgivings. 

Stepping back, pointing behind her, she indicated the hallway. 

"You'd better come in then." She said. 

His pale face brightened at her words, a glimmer of hope flitting across it. 

"Thanks." He said gratefully, following the direction of her outstretched hand. 

Crossing the threshold he trailed behind her as she closed the door before leading him down the narrow corridor, passed her bicycle, which was propped against the radiator, and through into the bright airy kitchen. 

"Bit dramatic Malcolm." 

"Eh?" 

"You! Drama queen.... _'I'll never darken your door again'!_ Very Tolkeinesque!" 

Malcolm shrugged his shoulders with some degree of acceptance. 

He couldn't help glancing around him, taking in what he could see of her abode. 

"Tea?"

The units were wooden, oak he guessed. A bit old fashioned. With antiquey metal handles. The floor tiles were like old flag stones. Everything else was stainless steel, apart from a large white butler sink.  
The whole effect was cottagy, which seemed strange to him, it being a classic Victorian town house. 

Spotlessly clean and neat. It was a cooks kitchen. Lots of recipe books on a shelf to one side. A large bowl of tempting fresh fruit on the worktop. 

Various items were laid out by the side of the hob, clearly ready to be prepared for an evening meal. 

Liv's voice bought Malcolm back into the room. 

"Earth to Malcolm!" 

Giving a jerk of surprise, he reentered the land of the living. 

"I asked if you'd like tea? And please....do take a seat." 

"Right. Sorry." 

He was like a youngster who had been caught doing something he shouldn't. Her tone with him was stiff and formal. Rather distant, and although friendly he could detect a distinct note of caution. Almost as if she didn't quite know how to react to this intrusion. 

"I was looking at your kitchen." He offered, reddening. 

"I noticed." She replied. "It's shite, but I can't afford to replace it." 

"You didn't choose it then?" His eyes were scanning again. Falling now on the vase of artfully arranged flowers in the centre of the table, as he pulled out a chair for himself and sat down. 

"Fuck no! D'you think I want to live in a bloody 'Tess of the D'Urbervilles' TV drama set?" 

Malcolm let out a sound which was half laugh, half scoff. 

"The people who lived here before moved to the Cotswolds....presumably they've now got this exact same decor but in a 16th century butter stone cottage in Bourton-on-the-Water." 

Her eyes were smiling, there was amusement there. Malcolm allowed himself to relax a little. 

"Listen. Liv....I came here to apologise to you. I know I've been a cunt. What you did for me the other week was above and beyond, and I treated you appallingly. I'm very sorry. I was hoping you could forgive me and that we could still be friends? I realise that might be a bridge too far for you, but I had to try. My secretary, Sam, told me I was being an total arse, and she's right.....so...." he held out his hands in supplication, ".......I was hoping we could.....I dunno......" 

His voice trailed away. 

"Never met your PA, but I like her. Smart lass." 

Liv seated herself opposite him, placing a mug of tea on the table at his elbow. 

Malcolm nodded. 

"Can't argue there." 

Her fingers curled around her mug. The steam which rose from it dissipated gently into the surrounding air. 

In that room, at that moment, with the late afternoon sun just shafting through the back window, a sense of wonderful calm seemed to descend.

It was quiet here. Peaceful but not a stony, uncomfortable silence. The glow of deep yellow on the wall.  
Malcolm had the sudden sensation of a creeping tranquility. So much so that involuntarily, a long protracted sigh left him. 

His chest sinking in as he exhaled, eyelids fluttering shut. Before he sucked in another breath and let that go too.  
Head swimming.  
Liv could see the emotion sweep across his pale face. 

What a strange man he was! 

Such hidden depths. 

Opening his eyes Malcolm was perturbed to discover her watching him closely. 

Silent. 

Waiting. 

"Just say if you would rather I left." He said quietly. 

Leaning back in her chair, still holding her cup, Liv did not release him from her interrogating gaze. Nor did she speak immediately. Seemingly weighing him up....or formulating a response, he wasn't sure which.

After a few seconds, she moved forwards again, resting her elbows on the table. 

"I don't want anything from you Malcolm." She began. "Just so we're clear. I'm not in the slightest bit interested in your notoriety or your position. I couldn't care less about your murky past or your women friends or your relationships. When I went to that party I wasn't looking for anything. I was just hoping I'd have a decent time. A pleasant drink perhaps, a chat with colleagues. That's it. No agenda whatever." 

"Me neither." He interjected. 

"I'm not quite sure how to define _'us'_? Are you?" 

She saw him swallow thickly. 

"Not really." 

"Is there even an _'us'_? Because I don't think there is. I think we are just two single people who kinda get along. I like you. You're ok. But that's as far as it goes." 

Malcolm shrugged.

"Yeah. Me the same, I guess." 

"I'm happy to go out with you, meet up occasionally. Talk, spend a little time. But I value my privacy every bit as much as you do. You'll forgive me, but I'm reluctant for it to be any more than that. I don't need it Malcolm. I don't need you.....or anyone......but we seem to get along pretty well. I'm willing to be there for you. But I'm not going to allow myself to be used by you, then cast aside. I won't let you suck me in and then shit all over me. As long as we're clear on that, then I forgive you for those stupid fucking flowers, and for pushing me out of your house. Let's forget it and move on." 

To her consternation, Malcolm scraped back his chair and stood up. His hands strayed up and into his hair, distractedly rubbing his scalp as if he had a sudden attack of dandruff.  
At first she thought him angry, but then she realised he was wrestling with himself and attempting to hang on to that feeling of serenity.  
A series of puff-like breaths. Fingers now balled into fists at his sides. 

"Long ago I decided I would never let any woman near me again." His voice carried a slight tremble, the little muscle in the side of his jaw alternately bulging and releasing as he tensed it.  
"I'm fucked up Liv. Life has fucked me up. The feeling of being taken in every orifice whilst having all the goodness drained out of me. I mainly live to work now. Without that I'm nothing. I cling to what I deign to call the little integrity I have left. I've a feeling that pretty soon that will be gone too....but all that aside, I don't really have anyone I'd rightfully call a friend. Not a proper one anyway. Except Sam perhaps. She knows me. She tells me I need someone like that in my life, that I deserve it. Fuck knows why! I don't deserve anything, not after the things I've done." 

He commenced pacing. 

"I'm regularly flayed alive by my job. I fight fires. Here, there, everywhere. That's a pretty lonely position to be in. I know where the bodies are buried, you see. I hold the information that keeps me where I am....and if I don't then I damn well make sure I get hold of it before the baying mob reach me. By any means available to me. Fair or foul.  
Up until now that's been my existence. Then fucking Steve Fleming grabbed me by the balls. He thought he could twist them, he thought he could bring tears to my eyes, castrate me and make me into a fucking boy soprano to sing for my supper. But I fucked him right back, up the arse, good and proper. I finished him just as surely as he tried to finish me. That's how it is. Dog eat dog.  
It's not pretty Liv. It's not nice. I'm not nice....." 

"You're really selling yourself so far." She butted in, a slight smile playing on her lips. 

It was disconcerting to hear him speak of himself this way. The self loathing was evident, but the bitterness at his situation filled every corner of his being. If anyone needed a friend, it was he. 

"It's the truth, Liv. I'm trying to be honest here. What I want is just a someone. A person who I feel I can text and say 'hey, fancy dinner?' A companion. I can't do proper grown up relationships, I just fucking can't. Every time I try it all goes pear shaped. I don't have time for bickering and arguments and lovers tiffs. I don't have spare energy for hurt and heartache and all that shite. I'm just trying to keep myself alive and employed, sober and more or less sane. Do you understand?" 

He turned to her now, face creased in despair. 

Why would anyone in their right mind want such a friendship? 

"I understand perfectly." 

Rising, she walked over to stand at his side. 

"You don't want romantic attachment. Nor do I. You don't want to be bothered with stuff that requires thought or massive emotional input. I don't either. You don't want to be held to account for forgetting a birthday or anniversary. Or for not calling when you're hectically busy. You want casual, you want simple. You just want someone to chat to or share crap with occasionally on an informal basis. No strings. You don't want clingy, or pushy. Or a gold digger, or anything like that. Am I right?" 

Malcolm looked forlorn. 

"I suppose that's about the size of it. Yeah. A real catch aren't I?" 

"You sure are! Regular lothario! What's a girl to say to that?" 

He turned away. The conversation over. 

"I'll get my coat." 

To his surprise Liv laid a hand on his sleeve. 

"Just a moment Malcolm." 

His expression now was unreadable. Fogged over with the weight of his words to her. How awful they sounded to his own ears, let alone hers. 

Realising, that in spite of Sam's rallying cry the day before, he really could not prevail upon himself to let someone in to that extent.  
He just couldn't. 

It would destroy him utterly if it went wrong. 

Fear was more powerful an antidote to love than bravado could ever be. 

A relationship was out of the question. 

"It's fine." She said quietly. 

_"What?"_

Incredulity. 

"I told you. I want nothing from you. Let's be friends Malcolm. Nothing more. It's all I can cope with too." 

Taking a step back. Almost stumbling. Eyebrows arched in surprise. 

"Seriously?" 

"I could do with a friend too you know. For God's sake though....what I need most is honesty....if it gets too much, then just say. Please? Don't do a hermit job on me and fuck off without a word. Okay? Deal?" 

She held out a hand to him. 

His eyes locked with hers, as he reached out his own and found it clasped firmly. 

A shake and it was over. 

The relief seemed palpable. 

Malcolm chanced a nervous laugh. 

"Fuck me!" He exclaimed. 

Smiling now, relieved herself, Liv placed her hands on her hips. 

"And now I suppose you'd like to stay for dinner. It's nothing grand I'm afraid, but there's plenty. And I have an amusing little Fever Tree grapefruit flavour tonic you can try.....?" 

Her companion was shocked. 

"Really?" 

"Yeah....with ice and a slice...." 

"No, I didn't mean....." 

Liv laughed then, both at him, and with him, pressing down on his shoulders gently, to make him sit at the table again. 

"I know what you meant, Malcolm." She grinned. 

oOo

What a strange Saturday afternoon it had been. 

Malcolm's fears that he would be summarily dismissed out of hand had proved, against all odds, unfounded. 

Between them they seemed to have reached agreement. Acceptance. 

The utter relief was almost overwhelming. 

He suddenly felt that there possibly was a person living in the world who actually understood. 

The revelation was both shocking and amazing all at the same time. 

For Liv it was more a meeting of minds. She enjoyed Malcolm's conversation, his presence. 

She required nothing more. 

To compound their apparent ease with each other, they began to prepare the evening meal. 

Malcolm was let lose with a chopping board, sharp knife and vegetables, whilst Liv washed green salad leaves in a colander, baby tomatoes, cucumber and other items before placing them together in a glass bowl. 

She made her own dressing in a screw top bottle, with olive oil, balsamic, a little grainy mustard and a few extra additions of her own whilst he heated a pan and whipped up the eggs. 

They worked amiably. Side by side. Their chat was easy and relaxed. 

It was as if they'd known each other for years. 

Fitting together like two sides of a jigsaw piece.

Comfortable. 

The flower vase was removed and placed on the dresser to one side. A crisp table cloth spread in its place.  
Malcolm was handed cutlery and cork mats, a cruet set and napkins.

Once seated opposite each other there was a collective sigh from the pair of them, before they tucked in without further ceremony.

Malcolm ate hungrily, making little noises as he did so.

Sounds of appreciation. 

Simple food. This was just what he liked best. Right up his street. His appetite was such that his body demanded it.  
Refusing to handle stodge or massive platefuls. 

Laying down his knife and fork whilst masticating deliberately, he threaded his fingers together above his plate, resting on both elbows. 

Liv glanced up. 

"So. Tell me about this interview at the Beeb then. What happened? It was all over the office, but I'm afraid I really didn't pay much attention. It was all idle speculation." 

Her dining companion swallowed his mouthful as if it might stick in his craw. 

"It was a fucking farce." 

"Why?" 

"Because I thought it was a political talk show type thing. Like Question Time. Or Newsnight. I thought they wanted someone who can manhandle slippery Politicians, or self opinionated, ego inflated celebs. Prats who think their useless opinions count. I can do that with my fucking eyes shut." 

He recommenced eating. 

"And what _did_ they want exactly?" 

Liv was regarding him now with some amusement. 

"They wanted fucking Jerry Springer. Or worse, the Good Morning Britain Phillip Scofield type insipid cunt they can stick with Kerry Katona or Brian Keenan, or as they put it, 'people like me who've been through the shit'......you know what she said to me, that Sarah fucking Jennings......?"

Out came Malcolm's fork, pointed in her direction as if it were a rapier blade.  
Liv remained mute, her face expectant. 

"......'we're aiming it at the sort of people who tried coke and didn't like it'.......I ask you! Fucking stuck up, stick up her own arse bitch."

She tried as best as she could, she really did......but she could not help the explosion of laughter which burst from her.

At first he looked hurt, but then it was as if everything came clear. The stupidity of it all. It was actually so bloody ludicrous it was funny. 

"I'm glad you think it's so fucking hilarious!" He said with mock severity. 

"Oh Malcolm!" Stifling her giggles, she attempted to straighten her face, composing herself and trying to look serious. 

"What on earth did you do?" 

"I'll tell you what I did....I pretended I had a phone call and I walked out! Just that. I answered a phone that didn't ring and I got the hell out of there! Pronto. Cunts!" 

oOo

Meal over, the two withdrew to the lounge. 

Where Liv had surreptitiously taken in the surroundings when first at Malcolm's place, he was not nearly so subtle when forming his own first impressions. 

Wandering the room with a coffee in his hand, poking his long nose into all the nooks and crannies. 

From time to time he made a little noise of either satisfaction or surprise. Depending on what he'd just discovered.  
Her bookshelves were full of historical, factual volumes. The Natural World, Ancient buildings, archeological digs, artefacts and the like.  
Egypt. The Romans. The Vikings. Civilisations long since vanished. These drew an _'oh'_ from his lips.  
The novels and other books illicited a _'hmmm'_ from him and a look of satisfaction, as if what he expected to see was in fact there. Dickens. Jane Austen. The Brontë sisters, as well as more modern stuff like Hemingway, John Wyndham and Christie. 

Moving on, he examined the pictures on the walls in equal detail, the photos in their frames on the mantelpiece.  
Nothing missed those sharp peregrine eyes. 

Liv watched him. She wasn't sure if his minute perusal of her goods and chattels was amusing or alarming. 

Eventually, having evidently made his conclusions, he turned back and joined her on the sofa. 

Sitting, then immediately reaching under his backside and pulling out _'The Woman in White'._

"You reading this now?" He enquired. Turning the now crumpled paperback over in his hands and peering at it like a curious jackdaw. 

"Yes. I've read it before, but it's a favourite." 

"I've heard of this bloke. Didn't he write "The Moonstone?" 

Now it was Liv who raised her eyebrows in surprise. 

"He did." She replied, aghast. "Have you read it?" 

"Nah. Saw it on telly, years ago. Keeley Hawes......lovely lass she is....." his eyes glittered, "......and the maid goes off and sinks herself in the quick sand or the mud or something if I remember rightly. Fucking horrible way to go!" 

A little smile played on his companion's lips. 

"So, apart from the delights of Ms Hawes, not really your thing then?"

"Not really. What's this one about?" 

Passing the book over, he made himself comfortable at her side, crossing his long legs at the knee with ease. 

"It's classic Gothic really. Although it's been heralded as one of the precursors of the detective novel. A young heiress is married to a brute of a man, who when she refuses to sign over her fortune to pay his debts, has her put in an asylum using her close resemblance to a dying girl to hide her away. The strong character is her half sister who never gives up on her and is as feisty a woman for the times as you could ever wish to see. I admire her tenacity greatly....." 

Listening to her speak so animatedly about the book, Malcolm found himself smiling. 

His companion stopped mid sentence, her brows furrowed in annoyance. 

"What?" She demanded. "What's so funny?" 

"Nothing whatever." 

"Then why are you grinning like a loon? Are you taking the piss?" 

Malcolm demurred. 

"Of course not! It pleased me to hear you speak so enthusiastically on a subject you are clearly familiar with, is close to your heart and you enjoy. Nowt wrong with that!" 

Liv's mouth clamped shut. 

"Oh! I see."

"Not everyone is out to get at you, you know Olivia. Sometimes a smile is exactly what it says on the tin, a smile. It isn't patronising or unkind or anything else....it's just sharing something pleasant." 

"Yes. You're right." Flustered now, she reddened beneath his steady gaze. "Sorry. I'm used to that from my ex, and some of the twats I work with, they do that to me all the time. Sort of indulgent, you know. Like I'm a bit simple....it fucks me off." 

"I know exactly. That fucking simpering look often accompanied by _'awww bless'?_ " 

Liv almost exploded.

"YES!" She cried. "That's exactly it! Like you're sat at the back of the class well away from the scissors and glitter." 

Malcolm roared. 

"Aye. Or the one left behind when they're picking sides for games.....been _there_ right enough. You'll be surprised to hear I'm not a natural athlete."

The pair chuckled together for a few seconds, before Malcolm, looking down at his empty mug, placed it on the coffee table in front of him and slapped his hands against his thighs.  
As if a particular moment had suddenly been reached. 

"Well! This hasn't been the Saturday I envisaged at all, I must say." He began, as the mirth faded. "But it's getting late and I should go." 

They stood together, both rising simultaneously. A little awkward. 

"It's been nice." Liv admitted, ruefully. "I think perhaps we rub along as friends quite well." 

Malcolm seemed unsure as to what to do with his hands, so he thrust them temporarily into his pockets. 

Waiting for her to make some sign or move.

"I'll fetch your coat." 

Passing him, she walked into the hallway, and he followed in her wake. 

"Thanks for the meal, Liv." 

Pushing arms into sleeves, fastening buttons as he prepared himself for the moment of departure. 

"No worries. It was nice to entertain someone here. It felt weird. It's only ever been me in this house. No one has ever come here as a guest since I moved in, not to eat, not to anything....." 

Her voice trailed into uncertainty.  
At his full height Malcolm seemed suddenly very tall. Imposing. Standing only a foot away, her eyes level with his chest. 

"I'll be in touch. Or you can text me. We should do this. It's good.....now we know where we both stand." 

"Yes." Raising her eyes until they met his. "We should. Thank you Malcolm." 

His hand came out, touching her sleeve briefly. 

"Don't thank me. You don't know much about me yet. You might be only too glad to be shot of me!" 

Gently, she shook her head from side to side. 

"No." She answered quietly. "No, I don't think so." 

Somehow, as she'd spoken these words, he'd backed up along the passageway until he reached the front door, his hand resting on the latch. 

"Okay. If you say so. I might remind you of that somewhere down the line." He smiled. 

The door was open. He was outside it. One foot on the step, one on the garden path. 

"Bye Liv." 

A slight wave of his hand. Briskly walking away, turning left onto the street.  
Hands in pockets again. Head down. 

Even though she stood there watching him go until he was out of sight, he didn't once look back.


	11. Chapter Eleven.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm takes up the mantle of 'Election Strategist'......he's working flat out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part of this chapter is basically a résumé of Malcolm's job as Election Strategist. Bear in mind that this is written before the EU referendum.  
> It's Malcolm rallying his supportworkers and galvanising them into action.  
> In his speech he has a thinly veiled dig at Richard Branson. Blink and you'll miss it! 
> 
> The second part is more or less the campaign itself and how it chugs into action.  
> Malcolm finds it a struggle sometimes, and therefore turns to his new friend.

CHAPTER ELEVEN. 

 

 _“In the grief that comes with recognizing what happened to us, we often feel there is nowhere to turn for solace…We do things to keep it away, such as becoming overly busy or using drugs or alcohol to numb our feelings. When we are caught up in resistance, we do not feel hope, but when we surrender to our sadness fully, hope trickles in.”_  
― Maureen Brady, Beyond Survival

.............

If Olivia thought that the Saturday would be the orchestration of great change, she couldn't have been more wrong. 

It was a while before she heard from her newly acquired friend again. 

Meanwhile, Malcolm was besieged. 

His official title was now 'Election Strategist'. 

Set atop this lofty pinnacle by the careful manipulations of Lord Nicholson. 

He was up against Cal 'the fucker' Richards. 

Two prize fighters, nose to nose and chest to chest as they squared up. 

Cal and Malcolm went way back. Many a vicious sparring match. It was all gouging and biting, scratching and punching way below the belt. 

Whilst Malcolm Tucker may be sweary, a hard task master, a perfectionist, he was also hard grafting, contentious and downright thorough. 

He made plans. He implemented them with ruthless efficiency. 

Today a rally. Tomorrow a march. An interview here, a press release there. 

There was no time for complacency, no room for shilly-shallying. 

Everything was riding on this campaign. 

He mainly targeted his opponent's base and the undecided voters. Organising doorstep to doorstep calling, town hall meetings and local press junkets. 

His focus was mainly on the older voter, because that generation were the most likely to turn out, and the 'just reached 18' age group, hoping to catch them young and get them on side.  
To this end he set up workshops to explain the Party's plans and hopes and lay down their manifesto. 

His assistant and all round dogsbody Sam, helped him identify the key marginal constituencies. Areas where a likely swing might take place.  
Researching past election results and pouring resources into those towns and counties which had changed hands frequently over the years. 

Malcolm was also careful not to neglect the true and loyal, the staunch support heartlands who's vote they could always count upon. It did not do to marginalise your best allies.  
Lots of flag waving and trips on the Battle Bus would be required to rally the faithful. 

Picking the best candidates to run for office in the first place was also most important. Malcolm didn't much care if the person standing was black, white, yellow or green with purple spots providing they were passionate about helping their community and the voting public liked them.  
He would have liked to see more Asian and Caribbean minorities standing, particularly in areas where they would have a deeper connection to those around them. Also, more women. Female candidates were just as committed, cared as much, and were every bit as intelligent and astute as their male counterparts. But were somehow discouraged by the gender stereotyping, the misogyny and the abuse they often received in the House.  
Malcolm considered it was about time this changed. 

The future was not male white middle class in his eyes.  
It was rich and diverse and full of the vibrant cultures he saw around him every day. The fact that someone came from a more humble background or a different ethnic group meant nothing to him. As long as they understood the way government worked and were keen to make their mark. 

Over the course of several heated meetings, Malcolm thrashed out, literally, the main issues he felt the Party should concentrate on. 

Standing at the head of the large oval table in the glass walled world of DoSaC, with his rabble of a campaign team, he spoke with all the passion and conviction he could muster..... 

_"What means most to the people and what would spur them to vote for Tom?_

_Education and the NHS are no brainers. The two sound bites on everyone's lips. Schools and hospitals._  
_Trouble is, the opposition were fighting on similar battlegrounds._

 _Transport.....hmm.....to Nationalise or not? That is the question. Whether it be prudent in the mind to pass the entire rail network into public hands or keep it being run by aging blonde haired oligarchs?_

_(Apologies to Shakespeare's Hamlet.)_ *scattered laughter.*

 _Word on the street is that voters don't much care as long as a fucking train arrives, on time, to take them to work, they get a seat and they don't have to sell a child to pay for the privilege._

_Easy then. Piece o' piss._

_Taxes? Naturally. Goes without saying. How to change the age-old dynamic._

_'Rich get richer. Poor get poorer.'_

_Most members of the public, when asked, will bring up the subject. A decent minimum wage. Adequate help for those who desperately need it, but throw the book at the Benefits cheats who cost the country a fucking fortune._  
_Knowing that their hard earned pounds went towards the good of everyone rather than into the coffers some bloated bellied, wobble jowled, liver cirrhosis ridden cunt who lives in a vast mansion and has a tax haven in the fucking Cayman Islands...._

 _Moving on...._

_The defence of the realm....perhaps less so. Everyone admires the Armed Forces, calls them heroes, but no one wants to fucking pay for them._

_Terrorism in their own land is a more pressing concern. The freedom to go into the Cities to work without getting blown to Kingdom come._  
_Yeah, that right there is a vote winner, people!_

_Europe?_

_Always a fucking minefield_. 

_The mighty Cabal_. 

_An all powerful Germany led by the wildly charismatic and effervescent Angela Merkel, with a yappy lap dog France running to heel, licking her arse whenever required. Forever siding against the UK, whom they both felt never quite fitted in, having ideas too far above our station._

_Well, I guess they haven't quite got over the defeat at Agincourt yet....either way, they've always fucking hated us._

_All the other, smaller countries or states tag along for the ride. Eager to jump on the bandwagon of perceived prosperity._  
_Migrants pouring in. Vast amounts of money being paid out of the Treasury. With, apparently, little to show for it._  
_General discontent._  
_At least that's the feedback I'm hearing on the grapevine......."_.

Sent chills down his spine. 

Would their opponents run on the promise of a European Referendum? Was this the rabbit that Cal Richards would pull out of the hat? 

If it was, then Malcolm feared for the country....and his own sanity. 

He could foresee future chaos, and that they were, quite probably, like Thelma and Louise, driving flat out, foot to the floor, straight towards the cliff edge. Cackling manically as they plummeted to their own destruction......

He finished speaking. 

Applause rippled through the room. 

Jesus fucking Christ! 

Rising, the rabble began to file out. 

Malcolm put his head in his hands. Thank fuck that was over. 

Time to break for a welcome caffeine fix! 

oOo

When the letter arrived, Liv was more than surprised, and very nervous. 

From her solicitor. Very official looking. 

Staring at the brown envelope for some time before opening it. 

It contained information forwarded from the tax fraud office. 

Liv went cold. 

A hand seemingly clutching her heart, trembling fingers as she read on. 

It appeared her ex had, unsuccessfully as it now transpired, tried to hide a large pension pot from her during their divorce settlement.

A sum of money of which she was entitled to a share. 

Tears sprang into her eyes as she scanned the page.....for two reasons. 

One because it was a substantial sum, which to him was a relatively trivial amount, but to her it was a great deal of money. It would allow her to worry less over counting every penny, pay her bills, and generally live, not to mention making provision for her own old age. 

Two because she felt so damn cheated by her bastard of an ex, yet again, that he thought to try to squirrel away such a large amount when his earning power was so vastly superior to her own. To him it was a drop in the ocean.

She was angry. Livid in fact. 

Her only consolation? He would receive a fine for non disclosure of assets. 

Pity it wasn't a jail sentence! 

.......

Almost two weeks passed, she had not been idle. 

With careful management and by cutting a few corners here and there, using a friend of a friend to do some plumbing work and general fitting, Liv had decided to rip out her ghastly Mill on the fucking Floss kitchen. Which she'd hated with a vengeance ever since she'd moved in. 

Some of the work she'd even do herself. 

It happened like this.....

Tom, at work, (not to be confused with the Prime Minister), he of the IT department, who, she now detected, fancied her.....and she knew this because he asked her out....twice....but she politely refused him, (but that was beside the point)....well.....he had an older brother.....Nigel.  
Nigel was a decorator come plasterer, come fitter, come 'odd job man at a pinch', and he'd agreed to do her a massive favour.  
Mates rates.  
Providing she would remove the old kitchen, because he didn't have enough spare days to do it himself, being in the 'middle of a job and having more work than he could handle' lined up.  
Or so he said!  
He would fit the new units, do the tiling....again, on the proviso that the old tiles were first removed, paint the walls and generally make good.  
Gas, he wouldn't touch, because you had to be specially qualified, but he had another mate....(didn't they all?) And he could fit the new boiler and the cooker hob and oven if she paid him cash on the nose. 

Liv hadn't been this excited since Malcolm spoke to her at the party and she felt mildly attractive again!  
(And that was so long ago now she barely remembered it.)

Speaking to her simpering and often mildly hostile boss, Wendy, she asked if she could take some holiday. 

"Olivia, you are owed loads of days.....you haven't taken all your allotted time in the two years you've been here. So I suppose it's okay to take a couple of weeks.....bit short notice mind....are you going away somewhere nice?" 

"No. I'm going to have a new kitchen!" 

Her superior gave an 'oh' of surprise. 

"I see!" She smiled. "Well, each to their own I suppose!" 

oOo

The campaign juggernaut rumbled on. 

A whistle stop tour of towns and cities in the North. 

Averaging two or maybe three a day, depending on distance. 

Newcastle, Sunderland and Middlesbrough. 

Then over the Pennines to the West. 

Lancaster, Preston and Blackpool. 

Onwards down to Liverpool. 

Here they stayed overnight before heading for York, Bradford and Leeds. 

Working their way down. Meeting and greeting. Stirring speeches. Drumming up support, pressing hands and cuddling babies. 

Liv knew where Malcolm was because she'd spotted him a couple of times, lurking in the background, on camera, on the six o'clock news.  
She remarked out loud to herself, how tired he looked.  
Her phone remained mute. 

He was busy. He was doing his job. There was no time for social niceties. 

Tonight he was booked into a hotel in Manchester. 

In the morning there was a visit to BBC Radio Manchester, then a rally at the town hall, before boarding the bus again to head off to Sheffield. 

In the normal scheme of things Malcolm coped quite well. There were moments of course, and at these times he usually resorted to tried and tested methods of distraction. He would probably call his sponsor. Take a long hot shower or bath. Go for a walk. Anything to avoid the cravings. 

At work in Number Ten or at DoSaC there was little opportunity to think or worry about drinking.  
He didn't find it too difficult to steer well clear. 

Out on the road like this was a different kettle of fish entirely. 

He was surrounded by booze morning, noon and night. Being in these situations was one of his worst triggers. 

Champagne receptions. Liquid lunches. Evening wind downs. 

Each day he went into battle. Sometimes he brushed aside his adversary like a mere speck of dust, other times it was mortal combat.  
Malcolm was both ashamed and angry at his own perceived weakness.

It took others who knew him well to tell him of his strength. 

Most of his colleagues found that alcohol and being social went hand in hand. You were one of the gang. All in it together. It was an exclusive club. 

After a hard day's work, when in London, he could come home to his own comfort zone. Close his door on it all, make himself a cup of tea and relax. 

Here, stuck in the hotel lobby amongst the crowd at the bar, he clung to his glass of orange juice and tried to make meaningful conversation with people who were half cut.  
The smell on their breath nauseated him.  
It not only permeated his nostrils but also his clothes. 

The entire bar area reeked too. Just by being poured or slopped the wine or spirits exuded a strong irresistible aroma. 

Making his excuses, Malcolm made a quick get away. 

Even once he'd escaped to his room, he hadn't really.  
Because there, waiting for him, tempting him in with its well stocked delights, was the free mini bar. 

Immediately he stripped off and jumped into the shower. On emerging, somewhat refreshed, gratefully donning his towelling robe, he found to his dismay that his hands were shaking. 

Reaching for his phone he called Pat.....

......an hour later he was feeling calmer, sipping hot chocolate, having boiled his tiny kettle, settling himself to watch the late night news. 

A grimace as he saw himself. 

Christ! 

Was he really that vampirically pale? Did his smile truly look that false? 

Flicking the 'off' button, he flung the remote aside. 

He was dog tired, but still buzzing. Like a rock star who'd just come off stage after a gig. 

Dangerous times. 

He reached for his phone again. Scrolled, and texted. 

_"Hi Liv. How's things?"_

It was a few moments before a reply came. Just long enough for him to think there wouldn't be one. 

He was therefore glad when his phone vibrated on the bedside table, as he found and tucked into the bag of peanuts in his little mini cupboard stash. 

_"Malcolm! Hi! Good thanks. How are you? I saw you on telly!"_

Munching noisily, he punched letters rapidly. 

_"Yeah. Me too. I look shite. Listen, I'm home at the weekend. You free?"_

A protracted pause. 

_"Um....well, yes and no!"_

_"????"_

_"Long story, but I've had a windfall. So I'm having the shitty Pickwick kitchen done."_

Malcolm's eyes scanned the message and he gave a sigh. His mobile buzzed a second time.

 _"I'm ripping out the old one myself. Got a skip arriving at 8am Saturday."_

Before he'd even given a moments thought, Malcolm was typing again. 

_"Fuck me! Want some help?"_

This time there was no delayed response. 

_"OMG! Seriously? That'd be fantastic. Sure you don't mind? It'll be no picnic, and I can't reward you, but I can guarantee you'll be well fed..."_

The Tucker eyes crinkled with laughter. 

_"Some good hard manual labour will do me the world of good. I'll be over first thing Sat morning."_

_"Thanks so much Malcolm. Oh, and wear something old!"_


	12. Chapter Twelve.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm keeps his word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a chance to show a subtle change in the nature of their relationship. Even though by the end of the day, Liv is moving away.

CHAPTER TWELVE. 

_True friends are those who came into your life, saw the most negative part of you, but are not ready to leave you, no matter how contagious you are to them.”_  
― Michael Bassey Johnson, The Infinity Sign

............

True to his word Malcolm walked briskly up the garden path of Liv's house at ten minutes to eight precisely. 

He was perturbed to find the front door wide open and the sound of hammering coming from inside.  
The small paved area where a front lawn had once been looked like a wreckers yard. 

Strewn with debris and a washing machine, it's disconnected tubes hanging like rubber tentacles. 

He knocked and called, but there was no reply. 

Entering the hallway, he called again, louder this time, and the banging stopped. 

"LIV! It's Malc. Can I come in?" 

The response was a muffled rather choked sound. 

Pushing open the kitchen door gently so as not to startle the occupant, he was rewarded with the sight of her backside in the air, as she knelt on the floor, her head being inside a cupboard. 

She emerged, in reverse, dusty from head to foot, an old scarf tied around the bottom half of her face like a bandit. 

Completely filthy, she looked exhausted already. 

Malcolm surveyed the scene before him. 

The eye level cupboards had been emptied and removed from the wall, and were stacked in a corner. All the contents of all the units were now in the lounge, as was the kitchen table and chairs, along with toaster, mixer, microwave and a whole host of 'stuff' piled up.  
There was barely room to sit down. 

The air in the kitchen itself was full of floating dust and plaster, the windows thrown wide in a valiant attempt to let it out. 

Utter carnage. 

Pulling down her makeshift mask, wiping the sweat from her brow, Liv beamed at him. 

"You're early! And you're a sight for sore eyes! I think I may possibly have underestimated the amount of work involved in removing an entire kitchen." 

"Jesus, Liv! What time did you start?" His eyes scanned the wreckage. 

"Six this morning. The skip isn't here yet. I hope it bloody well turns up." 

Her gaze travelled up and down him. 

Trainers. Jog bottoms. An old T shirt and a fleece with a zip neck.

It seemed strange seeing him without his suit or his normal casual wear. 

"How did you get that fucking washing machine outside?" 

"Er, well, I managed to haul it out with brute force, disconnected the pipes and then I kinda walked it down the hall. I've scratched the floor though....but it was too heavy to lift." 

"Why didn't you wait for me?" 

"I dunno. I suppose I thought you might not come." 

Malcolm gave a terse frown. 

"I said I would. Why would I say that and not turn up?" 

Liv shrugged. 

"I dunno. I guess I underestimated you too." 

She'd annoyed him, she could tell. His mouth set firmly in a straight line, no further comment came. 

Stripping off the fleece, he revealed two very wiry, surprisingly muscular, pale arms.

Muscular was not a word which immediately sprang to mind when thinking of Malcolm Tucker, and Liv could barely contain her smile.  
The lose jog bottoms accentuated his leanness.  
He really was like a string bean, she mused. 

"Sorry Malcolm. I've pissed you off. That's not a very good start. You know, I'm never nasty, and suddenly I don't seem to be able to be anything else. I apologise." 

His face relaxed, brightening slightly. 

"Accepted. Right! Come on then! Where do you want me to start?" 

Hands on hips she glanced around her, from one pile of mess to another, trying to decide. 

"Well, how about you grab the wall units I've already taken down, cart them outside and start smashing them up? Then when the skip arrives you can just chuck it all in." 

Without further ado he set to. Rubbing his long fingered hands together as if to warm them up for the task ahead. 

An hour later she was amused to find him, sweat pouring from him like Niagara Falls, savagely attacking the laminated wood with a four pound lump hammer. 

To her delight he was now sporting a bandanna, tied around his forehead to catch the perspiration, he resembled some kind of wannabe Bruce Springsteen tribute act. It was most comical.  
If it were possible, he looked even whiter, since his skin and hair were liberally coated with plaster board chaff and the dust of ages. 

The vigour with which he swung the mallet before bringing it down on his inert and hapless victim was quite terrifying, his teeth clenched, he looked almost manic as she watched him commence kicking the sides which remained intact into submission.  
Clearly he did not take prisoners! 

Suddenly aware that he was being observed, he turned guiltily.  
The smile he gave was one of almost gleeful enjoyment of his task. 

Liv handed him a steaming brew. 

"Having fun?" She enquired with a grin. 

"Fucking right! I'm imagining all the cunts I hate.....and this particular awkward cow son is my ex wife." 

He gave another vicious kick. 

Olivia laughed out loud, throwing back her head, one hand covering her mouth. 

"What's next?" He asked, brushing the dirt from his hands by rubbing them down the legs of his joggers. 

Together they decided to tackle the oven. 

Freeing it from its standing point was the easy part. Manhandling it out of the kitchen and along the passageway was a different ballgame altogether. 

"Fuck me!" Malcolm mopped his brow on the hem of his T shirt. "Is this thing cast iron or what? It's like one of those old ranges they used to have in Victorian times." 

"My hall floor is completely mullered." Liv replied, surveying the damage in dismay. 

"It'll be fine, when it's all done I can sand it down. All the scratches will come out." 

Her look disarmed him. She seemed astonished. Her eyes filling up as he watched. 

"Really? You'd do that?" 

"Course." He shrugged as if it were a trivial thing. "Only take a morning." 

Seeing that she was still slightly nonplussed he added, in his most nonchalant tone.

"There's nothing 'home handyman' about it, Liv. Trust me, I'm fucking useless at this DIY malarkey. But I can sand stuff. You just switch on the machine and run it over the wood. You could do it yourself, but I thought you'd have enough to do." 

"We'd better get on." She said quietly, turning back towards the abandoned cooker, which was half way to the front door. "Let's get this fucker outside before my strength gives out and you sustain a hernia. I'll be glad to see the back of it!" 

.....

By the end of the day, the kitchen was completely bare. 

A stripped down, empty shell, which echoed when you spoke inside it like an underground chamber. 

Liv was exhausted. Every muscle ached. 

Malcolm was strangely wired, still cheerful. 

The day had done him the power of good. To draw him right away from the election, from his work generally, allowing him to completely forget about it for a few hours.  
He was weary, certainly. But oddly revitalised. 

All thoughts from the previous night of the booze had been banished. The crisis passed. 

Somehow he'd weathered the storm yet again. 

For once he actually felt proud of himself. 

Having thrown the last armful of muck into the skip he reentered the kitchen to find Liv sitting cross legged on the bare floor.  
She looked rather forlorn. Such a small little thing. 

Dirty from head to foot. Staring around her with wide, damp eyes. 

"You ok?" Malcolm leaned himself against the doorframe. 

She nodded. 

"Tired." She said simply. 

Her shoulders rose and fell.

He heard her give a little sniff. Inexplicably terrified she was about to start blubbing and he didn't know how to handle it, he clutched at the nearest straw. 

"You wanna get something to eat?" 

"Yeah, okay. Then I think I'll have a long soak in the bath....while I still have a boiler!" 

Her eyes roamed to the spot in the corner where it hung, the one remaining bastion of the old, devoid of its cupboard surround, soon to be discarded. 

"How will you manage here in the week? With laundry and cooking I mean....and with no hot water when this old fossil is taken down?" 

"I'll be ok. It'll only be for a few days. There's a Laundromat on the corner in the row of shops. And I've made meals ahead, they are in the freezer ready for the microwave. I'll survive." 

Malcolm puffed his displeasure. 

"Well you can always use my machine. Or come to my place for a shower or dinner or whatever." 

Her smile was wistful and rather detached. 

"I'll be fine Malcolm. I'm so grateful for all your help. You've done more than enough for me already." 

Malcolm was suddenly aware that she was doing to him almost exactly what he'd done to her. Accepting his help, but when she felt he was drawing too close, she immediately wanted to back away.  
It was the equivalent of him pushing her out of his door. He recognised it, because he knew he was guilty of it. 

Yet when he had acted that way it had annoyed her so. Upset her even. So why was she now turning the tables on him? 

Disconcerted, he sought to diffuse the situation. 

"Look, let's grab a bite to eat, we could order a takeway.....I could murder a chicken bhuna.....then I'll leave you to your nice wallow. Does that sound ok?" 

Her eyes searched his, as if trying to see inside his head. After a moment she looked away with a sigh, unfurling her legs and heaving herself up. 

"Ok." She said. 

.......

They ate at the table, which was now in the corner of the living room. Surrounded by boxes. 

Liv was very quiet. As if the joy had been suddenly sucked out of her. As if the day, being hectically busy, sharing rare company had sustained her, and now it was almost over she felt low. The stark realisation that she'd actually enjoyed herself and it was not permitted. 

Her mood was infectious. 

Malcolm's happy buzz soon dissipated like smoke on the wind. 

"Been a long day." He commented, mainly for something to say to fill the awkward silence. 

"Yes." 

"Heading up to Hull on Monday." He tried again. 

She looked up. 

"Oh?" 

"Yeah. Back on the campaign trail again. Then to Stoke-on-Trent, Derby and Nottingham." 

"How do you do it?" 

"By putting in long hours and by delegating. Although sometimes that backfires. People never do things properly. I usually end up doing it myself. Oh, and Tom's on Question Time Thursday. That'll be fun! I'll need to brief him on every possible quagmire, so he doesn't get stuck up to his neck in shit."

"You'll be on the road all week then?" 

"Yep. After a Nottingham overnighter there's Birmingham, Coventry and Northampton. I could ring you in the evening for a chat though.....if you wouldn't mind that is......it doesn't have to be anything Liv.....just a friend calling a friend....." 

She seemed to brighten at his words. Breaking into a little smile. 

"That'd be good Malc. I'd like that." 

It was the first time she'd called him 'Malc' and it jerked through him like a taser shot. 

"The evenings in these wank hotels are really fucking dire. I get bored with Fanta and Pringles, or...if I'm feeling adventurous, Macadamia nuts....and there's fuck all on the telly with the shite reception and no movie channel...unless you're into porn of course, which I have to say, I'm not particularly. There's only so many times you can watch some guy with a bigger dick than your own pounding into some poor woman who you just know is being exploited and possibly damaged for a fucking pittance and who cannot possibly be enjoying it. To be honest if I can't do it myself I'd rather not watch someone else doing it." 

Liv gave an ugly grimace. 

Oh shit! 

Had he said too much? 

It was uttered only in jest, but perhaps she didn't yet know him well enough to recognise his ribald humour. 

"Sorry." He added quickly. "Didn't mean to offend. It's just me trying to lighten the atmosphere. Ignore me. I'm a cunt." 

Her eyes were sorrowful as she looked at him. 

"No, it's not you. I know you were just joking. It just hit a nerve, that's all. My ex was rather keen on his porn hub....more keen on it than me as it turned out. Except when he did want me, he then tried to replicate what he'd watched, whether I wanted to or not." 

She seemed on the brink of tears again. 

Malcolm's eyes widened as the implication of her words filtered through.

"Fucking hell! Me and my big mouth. Christ Liv......I'm so sorry. I really, really am."

"Forget it. Now I've told you too much.....stuff you don't need or want to hear. So now you know one of my secrets. I'd be grateful if you kept it to yourself. It's not something I would readily share." 

So shocked was he by her revelation, that for a moment he lapsed into stunned silence. 

Attempting to change the subject she spoke again, but seemed even more subdued. 

"I didn't think. Before. Those evenings must be especially difficult for you."

"Meh! It is what it is. The others all have their noses in the trough, but that's not me, as you're aware. Hence being a bit solitary when I'm away from home. A sad fuck I know, but it can't be helped. Being sober is more important to me than being one of the crowd.  
It'd be nice to catch up though, see how your decorating is progressing....nothing major, just an update and a 'how you doin'? Next time I come here hopefully you'll be all brand spanking new! If there is a next time, that is." 

Rising, she began gathering their plates. Ignoring his pointed remark. She understood that he was attempting to ascertain whether after today, and following this particular conversation, that there was a chance he'd be welcomed into her home in the future. She understood completely, but didn't want to give a falsely encouraging response. 

He, in turn, could see he was making her uncomfortable. That she wanted him gone. 

"Fuck. It's just occurred to me. How will we wash up......? I know it's only a couple of plates.... but! No dishwasher, no sink either...." 

"I'll take them upstairs." She replied dully. 

"Then I'll leave you to it. Let you have your tub." 

He stood up himself. Gathering the takeaway cartons and bagging them up. It saddened him slightly that the day had ended on this rather sombre note.

"Thank you for all the help today Malcolm. I appreciate you giving me your time." 

"It's fine Liv. You're welcome. And if it's ok with you, I will call you, or text sometimes while I'm away next week." 

"Please do." 

Her confession to him still left him reeling. He was deeply upset by it.  
Perhaps now he understood a little better why she was so very vulnerable, perhaps even more so than he. 

Somehow he'd never thought that her reality might be equal to or worse than his own. 

It rocked him to the core. 

"Night Liv." He said as he reached the door. "I've fucking enjoyed bashing seven sorts of shit out of your kitchen units, it's been most therapeutic." 

Her laugh was genuine. 

He smiled back with some relief. 

"Take care of yourself. Ok?" 

His parting shot. 

"You too Malc." She replied earnestly. 

Malcolm was so glad that he could at least leave her with a smile on her face.


	13. Chapter Thirteen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liv has a traumatic weekend. 
> 
> Malcolm does too, but in an entirely different way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The campaign trail in the UK has, for many years centred around the Battle Bus. Margaret Thatcher was a great exponent, as were New Labour. So it's only right that Malcolm's party would use it. 
> 
> There's a pun in the newspaper headline on the fact that Hull Kingston Rovers are the local rugby team. For those purists who want to get the joke! 
> 
> I very much wanted this story to be almost divided in two parts as regards the main characters working lives. Then bring them together at weekends or for their time off.   
> So we will see Malcolm at No 10 or DoSaC working generally, and Liv at her office on the floor above. Then we will have their interactions after hours.   
> Hopefully it'll work out!!

CHAPTER THIRTEEN. 

_“If you want to control someone, all you have to do is to make them feel afraid.”_  
― Paulo Coelho

.............

One, one, one, one, one  
Talkin' in my sleep at night  
Makin' myself crazy  
(Out of my mind, out of my mind)  
Wrote it down and read it out  
Hopin' it would save me  
(Too many times, too many times)  
My love, he makes me feel like nobody else  
Nobody else  
But my love, he doesn't love me  
So I tell myself, I tell myself  
One, don't pick up the phone  
You know he's only calling 'cause he's drunk and alone  
Two, don't let him in  
You'll have to kick him out again  
Three, don't be his friend  
You know you're gonna wake up in his bed in the morning  
And if you're under him  
You ain't getting over him  
I've got new rules, I count 'em  
I've got new rules, I count 'em  
I've gotta tell them to myself  
I've got new rules, I count 'em  
I've gotta tell them to myself  
I keep pushin' forwards  
But he keeps pullin' me backwards  
(Nowhere to turn, no way)  
(Nowhere to turn, no)  
Now I'm standing back from it  
I finally see the pattern  
(I never learn, I never learn)  
But my love, he doesn't loves me  
So I tell myself, I tell myself  
I do, I do, I do  
One, don't pick up the phone  
You know he's only calling 'cause he's drunk and alone  
Two, don't let him in  
You have to kick him out again  
Three, don't be his friend  
You know you're gonna wake up in his bed in the morning  
And if you're under him  
You ain't getting over him  
I've got new rules, I count 'em............

 

 _(......Saturday night/Sunday morning.......)_

 

Olivia switched off the radio with a flourish. 

"Fuck off!" She hissed. 

The bloody tune which seemed to haunt her at the moment. 

Kept on hearing it! 

Thinking back over the last few painful hours.

It had been one in the morning when her phone buzzed. 

_.....one, don't pick up the phone......._

At first she'd thought it was Malcolm and was both perplexed and annoyed. 

But no. 

Her ex. 

_......you know he's only calling coz he's drunk and alone......._

He was blind drunk. 

The context of his tirade was basically lots of swearing and thinly veiled threats, mainly because of the substantial fine he'd received over the non disclosure of pension money. 

For a few seconds she listened to his voice before she had the temerity to press the record button on her phone.  
Allowing him his full rant without speaking. 

She then hung up. 

Twice more he rang her, neither time did she speak, but recorded the foul language, the undisguised hints of what he might do to her, and that it must have been she who informed on him to the Inland Revenue.  
The names he called her were pretty standard fayre. Whore. Bitch. Etc etc. 

She then blocked his number. 

Falling into an uneasy sleep she was woken with a start some while later, by a loud banging on the front door, shouted abuse and the tinkling of broken glass. Enough to wake the entire street. 

_......two, don't let him in......_

Terrified, she rang the police. 

Then locked herself in the bathroom. 

(She didn't know it but several of her neighbours had also dialled 999). 

What a night! 

By the time he was carted away yelling and fighting like a rabid dog, and the policewoman who kindly stayed with her since she was shaking so violently, had left, it was almost morning. 

Her Sunday was then spent finding an emergency glazier to come and replace the broken pane in her lounge window where he'd attempted to gain entry, but failed, cutting himself on the forearm in the process.  
Cleaning up the trail of his blood which ran from her windowsill to the front path.  
Explaining and apologising to her wary looking neighbours, who pointedly informed her that this was a nice area and they wanted no such trouble here. 

Liv was mortified, like she'd somehow lowered the tone.

Christ! Was it her bloody fault? 

Her fault she'd married a complete bastard and he'd come back to haunt her almost two years after their divorce,when she thought she was finally free of him? 

So embarrassed and so shame faced by their attitude, it would be months before she could look them in the eye again, slinking back indoors with her tail between her legs.  
It was over a year until some of them spoke to her again. 

Deciding that she was someone from down the tracks, who clearly wasn't nice to know. 

Then, in the afternoon, she was interviewed at length by the Police. Played them the phone messages she'd recorded.

Apparently her former husband was now sober and terribly contrite. Having spent some hours in a cell. Apologising profusely for his behaviour.  
Not that he was actually remorseful she guessed, but presumably was now afraid he'd be charged. 

Did she want to press charges? 

No she didn't. She wanted to forget it ever happened and move on. She did not want to rake up all the past. Nor bring back all the hurt and the memories she'd tried so hard to leave behind.  
It would take her within his orbit again. Have her under his manipulative influence where, historically he loved her to be. 

Did she want to apply for a restraining order instead? 

Yes she did. 

She wanted the bastard nowhere near her ever again. 

The officer said he should consider himself extremely lucky. 

He was now on a watch list and he must behave himself, stay away from her, or else. 

Liv arrived home sometime after six. 

Shattered. Broken. Bereft all over again. 

The incident left her confidence in tatters and her demeanour so low that she could barely function. 

oOo

That evening Olivia went round each room locking every window, she securely bolted front and back doors.  
Tomorrow she'd have someone fit a sturdy chain as an extra precaution. She may even have a camera fitted. 

She battened down the hatches and skulked inside her home as though it were Fort Knox. 

Lying awake most of the night. 

Fuck that man! 

She was so angry. Both with him and herself. 

With him because he could still do this to her, and with herself because she let him. 

Thank god she didn't have to go to work in the morning! 

.........

Nigel duly arrived at 8am on the dot. 

He was a jovial creature. Well built, with a large belly. 

He wasn't in the slightest bit intimidating, and yet having him around the house made a Liv nervous and watchful. 

During the course of the day, the new units were delivered along with various appliances and a pallet of tiles.  
Her living room was now full to capacity. 

It unnerved her that her front door was wide open. It bothered her that Nigel wanted to chat over his tea break or lunch. Making her feel cornered. 

He whistled a lot. 

Cheerfully. 

The sound grated.  
As well as the banging, hammering and general noise which pummelled her brain and made her feel as if on the brink of madness. 

Worse, she knew she'd have felt none of this had it not been for her ex. 

Nigel must have thought her most aloof and unfriendly. But it couldn't be helped. 

She'd been so looking forward to having the work done, so upbeat and happy, now she felt crushed. 

Mid morning she decided to go out for a walk, to get away from the mess, the dust and the racket and enjoy some time alone.  
It backfired.  
She felt anxious and overly vigilant of everyone around her. Just normal everyday people passing her by were suddenly a potential threat. Men in hoodies pulled low over their faces especially.  
Eyes peeled for her ex too. Behind every tree in the park, round every corner. 

Finding herself crossing the road to avoid a group of young guys who were laughing and joking loudly to each other as they walked, sprawled in line across the pavement, as if to block her way. 

Turning on her heel she scurried back the way she'd come like a frightened rabbit. 

Reaching home again, she was breathless and trembling. 

Only to be further bombarded by the unwelcome sight of Nigel's bum crack as he bent over his task. 

He seemed to not care or was completely unaware of the grandstand view he was giving her. 

She grimaced with distaste.  
A line of rather spotty, hairy skin encompassed the crack of doom. Grey and well worn pants with a waist band which screamed _'Calvin Klein_ '. Separated from the paint spattered trousers which he constantly hauled back into position, because each time he stood up, the backside was roughly level with the tops of his thighs, and therefore empty of buttock. 

Should she discretely ask him if he'd ever considered the fashion accessory commonly know as 'the overall'? 

Or perhaps suggest to him that a larger rise pair of jeans and a belt would work wonders? 

Her courage failed her. 

By the time he'd packed his tools and departed for the day at five, she was overwrought and exhausted. 

Weepy and petrified of her own shadow. 

 

oOo

Meanwhile, Malcolm had been experiencing a 'mare' all of his own. 

The campaign battle bus rolled into Hull on schedule.

A low podium had been set up for Tom to address the crowd. 

There seemed an awful lot of people milling around. Certainly more than expected. 

Placards. Banners. Flags. 

They appeared hostile and militant from the start, kicking off pretty much as soon as the PM began speaking. 

Malcolm strongly suspected a set up.....he was also inclined to think that Cal 'the fucker' Richards might be behind it, since, ever vigilant, he spotted a couple of his aides-de-camp amongst the throng. 

Heckling. 

Booing. 

Then, when Tom appealed for calm, the mob began pelting the stage with raw eggs. 

Malcolm, who was standing off to one side, was hit square in the chest by a stray missile. 

So received a liberally plastered jacket, trousers, shirt and tie. 

For fucks sake! 

His PA did her best with wet wipes as a mopping job but the suit would need cleaning. 

They made the front pages of all the local and national papers, and the lunchtime news. Screaming headlines. 

_"PM shown the door!" "Scrambled eggs for breakfast." Egg-scuse me!" "Hull Kingston overs!"_

Malcolm was incandescent. 

He would have his revenge. If Cal wanted to fight dirty then he was more than up for the challenge. He'd make the cunt sorry he'd ever been born. 

What a bloody day! 

So relieved when it was finally over and he could shower and change. 

His clothes despatched to the laundry by Sam. 

oOo

At least tonight there was little fraternisation. 

Everyone was too subdued and tired. Another equally long day in prospect tomorrow as they moved on to Stoke-on -Trent. 

Settled in his room and in need of a chat, he spoke to Pat for some time. 

As always, it helped him refocus. 

Then he texted Liv. 

_"Hiya! How's it all going?"_

It was a while before he received a reply. 

_"Yeah. Ok. Everything arrived on time. Nigel put in a full day."_

_"That's great. You ok?"_

_"I'm fine."_

Malcolm knew it was very difficult to gauge feelings and emotions through a text message, but somehow he sensed all was not well. The brief replies. The lack of enthusiasm. It couldn't be purely that she just didn't want to hear from him he reasoned. 

_"You sure?"_

_"It's been a long day. I'm tired, that's all. I saw you on the 1pm news."_

_"Fucking disaster. But it's ok, I'll deal with it. That's what I do. Mop up the splatter."_

_"Malcolm, I'm sorry but I need to get to bed. We'll talk another time perhaps?"_

_"Ok. Sorry to have disturbed you. You get a good nights rest. Don't forget you can text me if you want. It's a long day here and I get sick of the sound of my own profanities!!"_

_"Thanks. I will. Night Malcolm. Hope tomorrow goes better."_

_"Me too. Night Liv. Sleep well."_

Signing off, Malcolm sat back on the bed with a frown. 

Something was amiss. 

He knew it. 

Part of him wished he wasn't so far away, because he'd have probably gone round to her house. 

But then, what was he thinking? He had no claim and no right to interfere in her life. She wouldn't welcome the intrusion. 

Fuck it all! 

Eventually he laid back, falling into an uneasy and most unsatisfying sleep.


	14. Chapter Fourteen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liv phones a friend and learns a great deal....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very much concerned with Malcolm's character. People's perception of it. The one we see in the show, at his most irascible and his most vulnerable.  
> There seems to me to be two Malcolm's. Just as there is with most people. 
> 
> He is human. He is real. Peter makes him real. Sure the swearing and the bombastic is perhaps almost exaggerated, but we see plenty of glimpses of a real man. 
> 
> He has heart. He has feelings. That's what I'm hoping to convey.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN. 

_“An acquaintance merely enjoys your company, a fair-weather companion flatters when all is well, a true friend has your best interests at heart and the pluck to tell you what you need to hear.”_  
― E.A. Bucchianeri, Brushstrokes of a Gadfly,

 

.............

 

Malcolm Tucker was a tenacious bastard. 

Like a dog worrying at a sore. 

He never liked giving up. 

And he relished a challenge. 

Not that he saw Olivia as a challenge per se. Not in the conquering sense. 

But he wanted that friendship very much indeed. For the first time in a very long time, he actually felt comfortable with someone.  
She wasn't out to get him. She didn't throw herself at him.  
In fact, quite the opposite. 

That very rejection was proving a powerful incentive. 

Somehow merely by keeping him at bay, she seemed to draw him in more and more. 

To win her over. To prove to her that he was worthy of her companionship, and could be trusted. 

There was just an overwhelming feeling in him that here was someone rather special. 

Throughout his life Malcolm had been beset by hurdles which people told him were insurmountable for a man such as he. 

_'You'll never get out of Glasgow. You will never make it as anything much. Never do anything with your life.'_

He'd confounded them all. 

Working at No 10 Downing Street for fucks sake. With the ear of the Prime Minister of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. 

So fuck you! 

Where love was concerned he'd fought hard and won.....then lost it all. Breaking himself in the process.  
Battering himself to pieces on the rocks of betrayal and disappointment. 

But Liv was different. 

She was certainly nothing like his ex wife. She was not ambitious in the same way nor demanding. Did not seek to control or manipulate.  
There was a softness about her, a vulnerability, plus an innate kindness, which she'd shown him when he'd been sacked.  
Without hesitation, she'd come to his aid.  
He didn't know anyone else, apart from Sam perhaps, who would have done the same. 

That meant she was owed in his book. Big time. 

Malcolm considered himself to be made of stern stuff. 

He hadn't realised it until the booze got a hold of him. 

It was true he'd received help. But in order to receive help you first have to seek it. 

Pat told him time and time again that he possessed great inner strength, although he never truly believed it until he started to turn his life around. 

It was as if he needed to reach the bottom in order to realise how high he'd climbed in the first place. 

Then there was Sam, bless her, their conversation rattled around in his brain almost every day. 

_'A leap of faith Malcolm......'_

Liv was not his project. Nor was she another hurdle to overcome. She did not need saving. Any more than he did himself. 

However, they both needed a friend. 

And she was worthy of his time and energy. If she didn't want his love then so be it, but maybe, if he worked hard enough at it, she would accept his friendship, and through that he would gain too. 

Whatever happened, he had to try. 

oOo

As the week progressed Olivia became a tad more comfortable with the effervescent Nigel. 

He was actually a nice bloke. 

Just a shame about the bum crack! 

Over the course of the next few days she learned most of his life story. He certainly wasn't reticent in telling it.  
Married twice, three kids. The latest with his new wife was a wee bairn. At 45! His other two were almost twenty. Learning all over again about babies!  
He was an irrepressibly happy guy. He and his ex were on good terms. Their kids together were great. A proud Dad.

Life was what you made it! 

Turned out that Nigel was quite the philosopher. 

Pearls of wisdom were his speciality. 

On seeing the election campaign on Liv's telly, he nodded sagely and said, 

"Governments never learn. Only people learn." 

Christ! The Plato of the handyman world Liv thought. 

Another time, she was speaking to him about a thought she'd had for a pull out cupboard insert for her kitchen. To make it easier to reach things in the back corner. 

This time he'd hummed knowledgeably and intoned the following....

"Ideas are like rabbits Olivia. You get a couple, learn how to handle them, and pretty soon you have a dozen." 

She did her best to stifle a grin behind her hand. 

......

As the days slipped by Olivia Williams decided to take herself in hand. 

She phoned her best girlfriend and they met for coffee. 

Fiona had known Liv since schooldays. 

The kind of friend who was there through thick and thin. 

It was she who realised the abusive relationship Liv was enduring with her ex and gave her the motivation to get out. 

There was no side to Fiona. 

She told it like it was. 

With mouth agape she listened to the sorry tale of the drunken phone call and the Sunday night shenanigans.  
Spluttering in her coffee as Liv recounted the street shouting episode and the broken window. 

"For fucks sake Liv! He's a fucking moron." 

"The police have gone through the courts for a restraining order. He's not allowed within half a mile of me. Nor allowed to phone, text or anything else." 

"Good! Pity they didn't put his nuts in a vice at the same time! Bastard! I tell you Liv, if he comes within a gnat's crotchet of you, I'd have his guts for garters." 

"They said if he violates the terms he could end up with a criminal record, and he'll lose his job....that frightened him more than anything else. He was terrified I'd press charges." 

"You were perfectly within your rights to do so!" 

"Oh Foe! I didn't want the bloody ag. I just want to be shot of him for good. I'm sick of forever looking over my shoulder." 

"Fuck.....Liv.....you must have been so scared. Why the fuck didn't you call me?" 

"I thought I'd be ok. It wasn't until I got home and the next morning that it all hit me." 

Liv's hand was seized and held tight. 

"Olivia....you must not let him get to you again! He can't rule you any more. You're no longer his property. Phone your counsellor again if you have to, but don't let that miserable fucker keep you cooped up inside your house, afraid to go out, afraid of your own shadow, like you were before." 

"I was going that way....I could feel it. But then, each evening I've had texts from a friend. Just small talk, you know. But small talk is better than no talk. He's made me smile and we just chatted about nothing, and it's really helped." 

She watched her friend's face widen in surprise, a wry smile breaking out. 

_"He?"_

"Oh, don't get your lingerie in a lather! It's nothing like.... _that!_ We are just friends. He's a tad older. There'll never be anything in it romantically. Or at least I don't think so. But we get on really well, and I feel comfortable with him. Not threatened. Safe, you know." 

Releasing her grip, Fiona sat back. 

"But Liv! That's wonderful! I'm so pleased. Who is he? Do I know him?" 

"Don't think so, but you might have heard of him, he works for the PM. I met him at a DoSaC works do. His name's Malcolm." 

The face creased in thought as she tried to recollect. Suddenly, as if the fog cleared she let out a squeak. 

"Malcolm? Not Malcolm Tucker?" 

"Yes." 

"Oh my God! Liv....you're fucking _kidding_ me, what are you thinking?" 

Rather taken aback by the reaction, Liv gave an injured expression. 

"What do you mean? He's ok." 

"He's a bloody madman! Everyone is terrified of him! They call him 'the thin white Mugabe'. Did you know that?" 

The withering look she received at this statement, rather shut her friend up. 

"Of course I do. I know everything they say. 'Iago with a blackberry.' The Goebbels from Gorbals', I've heard it all. But he's not like that with me. He's nice. I like him. We get on well." 

There was an powerful feeling of puffed up righteousness for Liv in defending Malcolm. To hear him thus maligned stirred her wrath and made her realise something....  
People didn't know him. 

They knew what they read in the papers. They knew what they saw on TV. They may even know what they witnessed in the workplace.  
But that wasn't Malcolm. 

That was the host into which he retreated to mask his real persona. 

She had seen another side of him. Right from the start. The moment he'd noticed her sitting alone at that party with an empty glass and no one to talk to.  
The Malcolm who texted her, and who turned up to help her demolish her kitchen. 

Raising her eyes she realised to her embarrassment that her friend was watching her thought processes closely. With an odd look of realisation on her face. 

"What?" The challenge in her voice was reflected in the hardening of her gaze. 

"For fucks sake Liv. What are you getting yourself into now? Talk about out of the frying pan...." 

"I don't know what you mean. He's a friend. And anyway....you don't know him......." 

There was petulance there now. Liv didn't know him either, not really. But she knew a darn sight more than most she'd care to name, and that was saying something. 

"Christ! Well! All I can say is, be careful.....that's all." 

Liv gave a huff of frustration. 

Why did she feel so angry? 

Did no one want her to be happy? 

The day she'd spent with Malcolm the previous weekend had probably been the nicest day she could remember for over two years.  
And it was just smashing up a kitchen! 

It wasn't just that either, it was the comradeship she'd felt. The mutual pleasure of just having someone else around.  
It'd been tiring, but it was fun. They'd laughed. Joked together. Shared. 

Was that so wrong? 

"I'm not a child Foe. And I'm not stupid. Is it such a giant leap that Malcolm Tucker could actually be a nice bloke? Could it be that the public persona and the opinion of The Daily Fucking Mail could be mistaken? You can't know Malcolm. Few people do I think. Is it so impossible that I should have him as a friend?" 

"Of course not Liv. But you are vulnerable, and you are susceptible to being sucked in. Even you must see that?" 

The change from defiance to a wobble of the bottom lip came rapidly. A sadness which swelled inside her and bought tears in their wake. 

"I understand you have my best interests at heart. I do. But he's genuine. I truly believe that. I like him." 

She was enveloped in a warm hug across the table. 

"Oh Liv! I can see that. Only too clearly. I just counsel you to take your time. Not to rush in where angels fear to tread. As a friend to a friend. I'm sure he is all the things you say he is, and I'm so pleased you've found him. Just tread warily. Please." 

The tears were real. Heartfelt. The vague ache of longing inside her chest seemed to worsen with every moment.  
Dabbing her tears with a tissue, she met the eyes of her best friend steadily once more. 

"Neither of us want much. We just want _something_........." she sniffed. 

"I understand." A hand laid on her sleeve. "I'm glad Liv. Truly." 

Olivia drained her cup with finality. 

"I must go. Nigel will be packing up. He's almost finished." 

Pulling her arm away, she rose and reached for her coat. 

"Ok hun. Call me, and we'll meet up again soon." 

As she made to leave, Liv turned and gave a lost, rather sad look. 

"You know Fiona, when I came here today I felt so low after what happened at the weekend, that I was ready to disappear into my shell again. But you've helped me and made me realise something. People are so ready to judge others, so apt to condemn. And it's fired me up. I'm not going to fucking crawl away like a meek little mouse, I'm not going to be too scared to move forward. I'm stronger than you and my ex husband think. I'm also able to adequately discern someone's character." 

She held her hand up to silence her friend's protestations. 

"Hush a moment! I know what you're going to say. _'Look how I misjudged my ex's well and truly!'_ But Fiona.....I was 17! I didn't even know myself then, let alone anyone else. But I'm 36 now. I'm older and wiser. It's taken me two years to really claw my way back. I've met blokes. I've seen straight away what they are and what they want. I either went with it, or discarded them. A sharp learning curve. Then, I met Malcolm. He's not looking for anything in particular, and neither am I. He wants nothing from me and I want nothing from him, except perhaps a bit of honesty, and a little friendship......" 

Gathering her bag, she buttoned her jacket. 

"......so for the love of Christ....let me have this, ok? Don't fucking rain on my parade! If it comes to naught, well so be it. But what if we are best friends for the rest of our lives?  
I'll have missed out on that because I wasn't brave enough to take a punt. You're afraid I might get hurt again? Hell! So am I! But that's my decision to make. My mistake. Do you understand?" 

Her friend's eyes filled. 

"You're right Liv. I'm sorry." 

"It may all go tits up. I may run crying to you, and you'll probably be the wonderful person you are and not tell me _'I told you so'_ but help me pick up the pieces. But Fi.....I have to try! I _have_ to." 

"Of course you do, my brave little tin soldier. Of course you do. And I'm there for you whatever happens." 

The two women hugged once more. 

Liv left the coffee shop with a courageous smile and a hopeful wave. 

Her friend sat on for some moments after she'd gone. Staring, unseeing out of the window. Her mind whirring. 

My god, but she was brave. The bravest of the brave, she thought. 

Then she smiled to herself, because she'd realised something momentous. 

Her dearest friend was in love. 

Olivia didn't know it yet. Not an inkling, she suspected. It was an embryonic minuscule feeling for her. Not even in its infancy. 

But it was there. 

As bright as the apple ripening on the bough. It hung suspended, red and shiny. Tempting to bite. 

It would either grow and swell into a fine fruit, or the maggot would find it and eat it slowly from the inside out. 

Either way, Fiona knew it now as surely as she knew her best friend. 

With a sigh, she gathered her own scarf and coat, tossing a few coins onto the tip plate. 

Well, there was a turn up for the books!


	15. Chapter Fifteen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liv has bitten the bullet and invited Malcolm to share dinner in the new kitchen....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm talks about himself at the beginning of this chapter. He speaks of his own demise. He knows it'll happen one day. He almost predicts his political death.  
> We know it happens at the Goolding Enquiry of course, but at the time, Malcolm can only speculate.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN. 

_“As he tightened his embrace around her, he knew he'd made the right choice._  
_He held the whole world in his arms.”_  
― Catherine Anderson, Early Dawn

................

".......oh never you fear, he won't get one over on me. Lairy cunt. He always was an arrogant sod, always thought he was better than me. These public school ponces always do. They see a working class boy from Glasgow and they think they are superior......" 

Malcolm waved his fork in emphasis. 

"What are you going to do to him?" 

" _To_ him? I'm not going to physically do anything _to_ him! I'm much more subtle than that. But there's a nice little story I've had under wraps for a while. A wee exposé. I know where all the bodies are buried, you see Liv. Time to dig one up and parade it's rotting, maggoty corpse across the front pages!" 

Liv shuddered. 

"Sounds horrible." 

"It's dirty certainly. Politics is a grubby little game. It's full of nasty wee worms who live in the soil. They chomp all the crap in one end and shit it out the other. It's all they do. They seethe and swarm and multiply in the lovely dark. They wind themselves around the unsuspecting and drag them down into their mire, never to return. Then, when the rains come, they all wriggle their way to the surface, ready to spread the filth they've ingested across the land." 

"And what has Cal Richards done?" 

"Oh, a little matter of some unpaid taxes, and a holiday trip to Barbados he put on government expenses. Slippery eel. He paid his old boy network to hush it up. It never made the press. But I got wind of it, I kept it and nurtured it like _'the precious'_.Waiting for the right moment. Well. Now is that moment. Come Monday it's gonna be splashed across the front of The Mirror. I'll teach 'the fucker' to fucking mess with me. Throwing eggs indeed! Cunt!" 

"I can hardly reconcile....." she began quietly. 

"With what?" 

"You! The Malcolm that has to do such things, and the person sitting here in front of me now." 

"They are one and the same Darl. I'm sorry if it offends you." 

"But why Malcolm? Why do you do it?" 

"The political gamesmanship, or the job?" 

"The job I mean. It makes you almost less than human, it makes you seem, well.....not very nice." 

Her friend shrugged diffidently. 

"Dunno. Depends on now you define 'nice'. It wasn't what I set out to do. I was a journalist. A hack. But I was good, a grafter, and I stuck up for myself. Refused to be trampled down, so I earned a reputation for being tough. You have to be in this game. Look at Steve Fleming, look at Dan Miller.....look at any of them you'd care to name. Scheming, power hungry, self-raising, just like the fucking flour. They don't care who they walk over to get to where they want to go. They don't care about the country, or the Party or anyone but themselves. _They_ are not nice. And that's where we differ." 

Sipping his tonic, he replaced the glass, but twiddled it around with his hand. Focusing on the pattern he made. 

"I've campaigned for everything from gay rights through to bills for minimum wage rises, and countless other major issues that needed a champion while we're stuck with a leader who sits on the fence, too weak to speak out without a push.  
Whilst they are busy lining their pockets, promoting their lackeys and watching their own backs. That's why they don't like me. Because I scare them. They know I can see through them. See them for what they are. They know I'm clean as a whistle and they can't fucking touch me." 

Liv shook her head. 

"No one is untouchable. Not even you." She said sadly. 

"Which is why that very knowledge alone makes me vulnerable. The reason I have to be tough. They are looking out for one mistake, one time I slip up or fall, then they'll be on me like a pack of dogs. Ripping me to shreds.  
My fall, when it comes, will be total. No way back. They'll finish me one day, and then they'll sit back and congratulate themselves. But I won't go quietly. I won't lie down for them. Fuck 'em. If they want to take me down then they'll have to politically kill me." 

All the time he'd been speaking so passionately, Liv watched him closely. His hand gestures, his tics. The way he pulled an ear lobe or brushed a hand beneath his nose. Fingers in his hair, tugging at it.  
Eyes bright with enthusiasm. Completely engaged and fired up.  
The intensity was almost intoxicating. She couldn't look away. 

Finishing his sentence and his dinner, he sat back, his plate empty, looking down he regarded his own tummy with satisfaction.  
Patting it gently. 

"That was delicious!" He effused. 

........

They were seated at the dining table together. 

In the newly completed kitchen. 

Sleek, modern, clean lines. 

It was smart and fresh, the smell of paint and tile grout still lingering. 

He looked about him then, his eyes scanning with pleasure. 

"Looks so different." He mused idly. "So pleasant to sit in, I love it." 

.........

He'd been quite surprised when the text came through. 

_"Are you busy at the weekend Malcolm?"_

_"No. Why?"_

_"Wonder if you fancy dinner in a posh new kitchen! Only I'm dying to use it and don't have anyone to invite."_

_"In that case, I'm there. With bells on!"_

........

When he arrived, he carried a bunch of bright tulips under one arm, and a bottle of wine. 

"What's all this?" She countered, as he crossed her threshold. 

"The flowers I thought weren't too ostentatious, and would look nice in the centre of your table, I wasn't sure if you liked champagne, since I've never seen you drink it, so I brought wine instead."

Liv was stunned. 

He'd been into an Off Licence. An alcoholic. He'd chosen wine. Who does that? 

"Oh Malcolm! That's such a nice thing to do. What can I say?" 

A shrug of nonchalance. 

"I just thought....well, you know....like when you launch a new ship or something." 

She smiled, leading him through to the view the finished article. 

A delicious smell emanated from the oven. 

The table was neatly laid, a fat ivory candle burning in the middle. 

For a second Malcolm came to a halt. Wasn't this all a bit cosy? 

She spotted his discomfiture. 

"It's okay....." she reassured, "I'm not trying to woo you! It's just I thought as it was a special occasion, and well....I wanted it!" 

Malcolm breathed again. Then sniffed. 

"What have we got?" He enquired, salivating. 

"I've made a lamb dish, like a rustic casserole. I hope you like lamb." 

By this time her companion was looking about him, his eyes glittering. 

"It looks fab." He enthused. "Are you pleased?" 

Her face shone with a mixture of excitement and beaming pleasure. 

"I'm completely thrilled." She said breathlessly. "And I've been busting to show it to someone!" 

.......

Their talk was so natural. 

It flowed easily between them, like a gently rolling tide. 

The day faded. Falling into a soft night almost unnoticed by either party. 

"So how was your weekend, and your week with the lovely Nigel?" 

Liv laughed. 

"Oh he was alright. I got used to him in the end. I even bought him some overalls. I told him they'd help keep his back warm, as he was always complaining of it!" 

Malcolm laughed too. 

"Nicely done!" 

Should she tell him of her ex? The drunken call, the visit to the Police Station? 

They were having such an enjoyable evening. Wouldn't it spoil the whole atmosphere?

She decide it would. 

Instead she would deflect him, ask him something that had been troubling her. 

"Malcolm, I need you to tell me how to handle the alcohol thing. I've never had experience of what it means, and I don't want to do the wrong thing. Please can you be honest and tell me what I should and shouldn't do? I mean, is it alright for me to drink around you?....I would never get drunk, in fact I drink very little generally. But is it acceptable to have a glass of wine when you are there? And you even buying booze....how does that work? I was amazed when you arrived with a bottle and I wasn't sure how to react. I want to do the right thing. Do I sound like an idiot? Forgive me if I do. And forgive me if I offend you by asking." 

To her relief, he gave a genuine smile.

"It's nice of you to even bother. So thanks for the solicitude. Those who know.....and there aren't many, as I don't bandy it about, well they just go with the flow really. But Liv, let me say something. It isn't your fault I'm an alcoholic. It's mine. It isn't your place not to drink for my sake. It's up to me to keep myself sober, not you. I've no problem with you having a glass of wine at all. Walking into an Off Licence isn't going to make me drink either. I'm strong enough and self aware enough to remove myself from any situation I find troublesome. I mean, if you sat there quaffing in front of me until you were off your face I'd probably just fuck off home. But I don't judge. Neither do I look at people who imbibe and say 'shame on you'. I concentrate on myself not others. I've taught myself over the years to ride the storms. If something you do bothers me, I'll tell you....is that okay?" 

Liv looked relieved, and pleased with herself that she'd successfully headed off his question about the weekend. 

But oh how she'd underestimated this sharp and clever man. 

He was watching her keenly from across the table. His eyes flitting over her face as if searching for answers. 

Flustered, she rose, gathering their plates. 

"Coffee?" She enquired, brightly. 

"In a moment." He replied. How his steely gaze unnerved her! "First, I'd like some honesty from you too.....if you're willing?"

He saw the fear sweep across her mien. 

"What.....?" She stammered. 

"The brief texts on Monday. The new security camera outside. Brand new shiny thick chain on the door. I'm neither blind nor stupid, and if I'm not much mistaken, you were afraid of something when I first arrived....although you've relaxed since.....what's it all about?"

My, but he was astute! 

How could he possibly know? 

Olivia was so discombobulated by his frankness that for a moment she was silent. Just staring at him, open mouthed. 

"But...." she began. 

"How did you......?" 

"I mean I never even....." 

"I sensed it." He returned quietly. "Knew something was up. And I'm observant. Not much gets passed me." 

"I didn't want to spoil a nice evening by talking about it. I'm doing my best to forget it happened."

She moved across to the sink as she spoke. Trying to keep her voice light and unconcerned. Malcolm followed her. Hovering behind.  
He seemed to grow in stature, tall and lean, an imposing presence, yet his voice remained soft. 

"In my experience, when two people become friends they start to learn about each other. Sometimes it takes time, sometimes it doesn't really happen at all. But I think we're different. I don't know why and I can't really analyse it, but I find you easy to talk to. I don't feel uncomfortable because I don't think you have a particular agenda where I'm concerned. So I'm more at ease around you. You get me?" 

Nodding, she turned to him. Standing two feet apart. Facing each other. Her eyes were dewy. Tears threatening to come.  
His tone with her remained gentle, a low, warm soothing sound, almost a rumble from his throat, which seemed to resonate in her new space.  
Making her feel a sense of calm, which descended over and around her. 

That was the thing about Malcolm. He wasn't threatening. Not to her. She didn't feel afraid when she was with him, she felt as if a huge weight was lifting from her shoulders. 

As these thoughts formed, his hand reached out and gripped her arm. It was a gentle touch of reassurance. A steadying hand. 

"I'm a private person Liv, and I'm sure you are too. We try to hide personal stuff. But what I'm learning is that at some point we have to trust. It's a hard lesson. I'm shite at it. So are you. In fact you're _really_ fucking shite at it."

"I know." She admitted, focussing on his fingers where they held her sleeve. 

Seconds passed. Their nervous breaths like the wingbeats of a startled bird in flight. A single feather loosed which drifted slowly earthwards on the breeze, with nothing to hold it but a puff of air. 

Neither moved. 

The silence held between them becoming thick and heavy as a mighty chain. 

Eventually she stirred, almost as if waking from sleep when Malcolm released his hold on her.  
Speaking reluctantly, as if each word caused her pain.

"I had drunken phone calls from my ex. At one in the morning, Sunday." 

Reaching for her phone, which lay on the worktop beside her, she scrolled, pressed play, and held the phone up for him to hear the words. 

Malcolm remained where he was, motionless. Listening in silence to the barrage of abuse, threats and accusations. 

When it ended he could see tears rolling slowly down Liv's face. Although it remained otherwise expressionless. 

"Jesus Christ." He hissed through clenched teeth. 

When she'd told Fiona earlier in the week, it had been a case of sharing her troubles with an old and trusted confidante. Someone she'd known for years and who was aware of every aspect of her life. With another female she could speak about the most intimate things, woman to woman.  
To confide in Malcolm felt so different.  
More of a terrible confession, something shaming, or rather, an admission that her life was far from perfect, that she had a millstone of baggage around her neck and that it might not be something he wanted to know. 

However, she was resigned now. It was going to be told, and in a way it was a relief to tell it. 

"A while later he turned up here. Banging on the front door and yelling. Woke up half the street with the racket. When I heard the lounge window being smashed I hid in the locked bathroom and called the police.  
I spent most of Sunday clearing up, facing my irate neighbours and being interviewed down at the station." 

She was sniffling now, unable to hold it back. It was the one thing she didn't want Malcolm to see. Didn't want him to know, and now here she was, pouring out her woes and blubbing like a fool. Inviting his pity, when she wanted nothing of the kind from him.  
The evening would be ruined. Possibly the whole unlikely friendship. This wasn't what he wanted either. Their pleasant ambiance shattered. 

"What did the polis say?" He asked, with a gentleness which belied his seething anger. 

"They asked if I wanted to press charges." 

"And did you?" 

"No." 

"For fucks sake Liv!" 

"But I did request a restraining order. It's in place. He's not allowed near me again, or to contact me in any way." 

"You must have been so bloody petrified."

She nodded dumbly. Biting her lip. Her swimming eyes seemed huge to him. Orbs of glassy wetness, which would not look directly into his.  
Fixed instead at a point on his chest, the three buttons on his sweater. 

He seemed to be in the grip of an inner struggle. Wrestling with himself as to which was the right move to make.  
What might be acceptable and what might not.  
A little rush of air from his lungs told her that he'd made his decision. 

"C'mere." He said softly, and reached for her. 

A single second, that's all it was. No more than a heartbeat. 

The moment when she could either refuse him and back away, or accept and take that one step necessary. 

She took the step. 

Being welcomed into his arms. 

As she melted against him she felt the embrace close around her back, the tensile strength of him enfolding her. 

Sliding her own limbs around his middle, she clasped her hands together behind him. 

The fine cashmere wool of his jumper was soft against her cheek, his body warmth beneath it seemed to seep through and heat her skin. 

Malcolm exhaled deeply. A rush of air which made his rib cage sink, allowing her still closer.  
He lifted his chin so that she slotted seamlessly beneath it. Resting it's angular boniness on the top of her head. 

Mere moments passed, but it could have been an eternity. 

The dull ache in her chest seemed to grow and swell. 

So long. 

To be held properly. To be comforted. 

Liv was overwhelmed by the tide of feelings which engulfed her. All the more strange because it was unexpected.  
She felt lightheaded, weak with the strength of emotion. 

And he didn't let go. 

Malcolm rode his own inner turmoil by closing his eyes. He shut them tight and tried to breathe.  
The air whistled in his nostrils, filling them with the scent of her hair.  
He was aware of how she fitted perfectly against him. Conscious of their toes touching. His in shoes, hers in slippers. The feel of her, her diminutive size, the way her heart pounded against him. 

A sense that if he let go now it would all come crashing down. 

So he didn't. 

He held on tight. 

Around them, all the world seemed to fall away. The minutes stretched out before them for as long as they remained locked together. 

She could hardly tell where he ended and she began. 

No shape. No form. 

Just two lonely people suspended in a bubble of time. 

When his voice finally broke into the beautiful quiet it seemed to come from far away. 

It reached her across the distance like a wake up call. 

"It's not right that any man makes a woman live in fear." He said. 

Raising her head, she pulled back, looking up into his face. His grip on her loosened to allow her room. 

She saw pain there. Writ large. A vein running vertically down the centre of his forehead which was standing prominent like a furrowed ridge.  
His eyes carried a deep sadness. But also a vague longing, which seemed to seep out of him and which he attempted to suppress. 

"I'm not afraid now." She murmured, then moved in close again. 

Not yet ready to relinquish this wonderful yet alien sensation of feeling safe. 

She could feel the movement of his ribcage beneath her cheek. The warmth of his hand against her back. 

As for Malcolm, he felt he could stand like this forever. 

It felt right. 

Eventually, reluctantly he drew back. Taking a step in reverse. His hands lingering first on her shoulders then grazing down to rest on her forearms.  
Keeping the connection.  
Still within reach. Inside his orbit. 

He appeared as if half in a dream. Unsure as to what just happened. Confused by the power of it all. 

Releasing her he stumbled back, hands going up to his head, raking through his hair. 

"I'm sorry." He stammered. "It's not what we agreed. Not what you wanted." 

Liv took a step forward again, closing the gulf which had opened between them. Reaching up to capture his fingers and hold them in her own. 

"Malcolm. It doesn't matter. And it's EXACTLY what I wanted. What I needed. Thank you." 

He blew a puff out through his mouth on the exhale as if to let go of the tension. The very air crackled with it. 

"I should go." He said, still reeling.

"No! Stay! Have your coffee. If you leave after this you'll be mulling over in your mind what happened. You'll be chastising yourself for letting it happen. You'll be all awkward and embarrassed and unsure of what to say or do next.  
We are friends Malcolm. We've established that much. You gave me something just now which I've probably craved for months. A hug. It's a simple gesture. It implies nothing, it means everything. It's one human being offering comfort to another. So please, let's not get carried away and go all gooey." 

Malcolm huffed again. 

"You're sure?" 

"Absolutely." 

She turned away, making them each a steaming mug of decaf. 

Carrying it through to the living room they seating themselves side by side on the couch. 

"It's been lovely." She smiled, taking a sip. "And you've helped me no end. Made me feel so much better. Like I'm not responsible for my ex's actions. Nothing I've done made him behave in that way." 

"He's a total cunt." Malcolm replied matter of factly. 

"I won't disagree there." She smiled. "So, in other news....what's the campaign plan for next week? Apart from squeezing Cal Richard's balls?" 

Her companion leaned back against the cushions. Crossing his long legs. He seemed more at ease again. Recovering his equilibrium. 

"Well the bus tour continues, although we are nearer London this coming week before heading down to the South West next. Once there it's Bristol, Exeter, on into Cornwall then back again. There's more media stuff this week too. Tom is on a special Debate programme, a couple of radio shows and some interviews in the national press. Mind you, we'll still lose the Election. Doesn't matter what we do. We're fucked." 

"You can't predict that surely?" 

"I know the way the wind is blowing Liv. By the 5th May we'll be in the political wasteland. I might even quit. Although to be honest I don't know anything else, so fuck knows what I'd find to do with myself!" 

"You could write. Or be a TV political pundit perhaps?" 

Malcolm laughed heartily. 

"Only if they put me on after the Watershed." 

"You'd be great. I'd watch you!" 

His smile widened, reaching right to his eyes, which sparkled with mirth. 

"I can see it now! 'Cunts on Camera'." He beamed. "Or how about 'The Parliamentary Shit Show'?" 

Liv giggled infectiously and soon they were chuckling and chatting naturally together once more. 

Malcolm happened to glance at his watch. 

"Christ!" He yelped. "Look at the time! I have to go. Can't be outstaying my welcome." 

As her smile faded, Liv shook her head. 

"No chance." 

Standing, he gathered himself. Retrieving his scarf and jacket. Ringing for a taxi. 

As Liv opened the door to let him out he turned back. 

A tall dark shape looming on the threshold. 

"Thanks for a lovely evening. And for the dinner. It was great." 

"Thank you for the hug Malcolm." 

He hesitated a mere moment before reaching forward and dropping a kiss on her cheek lightly. It was barely a touch but it was there nevertheless. 

"I'll be in touch. By text. If that's ok?" 

"Sure." 

"And when I'm in London I'll call and perhaps we'll meet up?" 

"I'd like that, Malc."

At the bottom of the path he turned to wave, as his cab pulled up to the kerb. 

She watched him climb in, and waved back. 

After shutting her door and firmly bolting it, she felt as if her heart would burst.


	16. Chapter Sixteen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm is in the office. Sam has learned something about him. 
> 
> It's Liv's first day back after her break, it's not the day she expected.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter I speak a little about the Civil Service. Its ranks and its workings. 
> 
> There is a reference to Sir Humphrey. This is the pompous character Sir Humphrey Appleby, played by the incomparable Nigel Hawthorne, the well known civil servant to Jim Hacker MP, played by the equally wonderful Paul Eddington in 'Yes, Minister' and 'Yes, Prime Minister'.
> 
> Terri Coverley's employment background is canon to the show. 
> 
> The percentage points in the polls I've given are just the figures for The two largest parties head to head. (Armando and co were always very careful not to label Malcolm's party, or the opposition but I think it's pretty clear that they were Labour and Mannion and co, Tory.) Obviously there are other smaller parties in the UK like the Liberal Democrat's , Green Party and UKIP but this figure is just an indication of how close the voting might be between the two main parties. 
> 
> The reference to Ratner's the Jeweller's, is made because the CO of the company famously and publicly called his own merchandise 'crap', causing the ultimate crash of the entire chain and its eventual liquidation.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN. 

_"It is light where you went once. It is light where you are now. It will be light where you will go again."_ Jennifer Worth. 

 

..........

 

Malcolm prowled his office at Number Ten like a caged tiger. He'd grabbed only a couple of hours of sleep after leaving Liv's house.  
This morning, the past seemed somehow further away. Something he was looking at from a distance. 

For some strange reason he was wired. 

The press exposé of his rival had achieved the desired effect. 

Cal Richards was seriously miffed. As were the entire opposition cabinet. Having a proven liar and a cheat as your campaign manager did not sit well.  
It probably had little impact on the voting public but it served to rattle the chains of those seeking election and it now seemed clear that the country may be heading for a coalition government. Since a clear majority appeared an unlikely outcome. 

So, although Malcolm had not perhaps achieved his ultimate aim, to derail his opponents support base, he had at least made enough people sit up and think seriously about what they were voting for and who they trusted most. 

As the press reports and latest opinion polls trickled in, he paced some more. 

Pacing was good. 

It used some of the excess adrenaline and was more effective cardio than sitting on his arse all day. 

Sam knocked before entering. 

She regarded her boss's urgent perambulation for some seconds in silence, before producing a brown paper bag containing a warm croissant and a takeaway coffee cup. 

"Latest poll figures are promising." She commented. "MORI and YouGov are saying the gap is closing. 52% to 48%. The prediction is it's going to be close." 

Malcolm lowered himself into his chair with a puff. 

"We won't get enough for a majority, even if we close it another percentage point between now and polling day. They'll have the consensus, and you can bet your granny's bloomers they'll strike a deal.  
The Lib Dem's are so fucking desperate for power they'll sell their souls to the devil to get it.  
Mark my words. All their manifesto promises will be chaff in the wind as soon as they get a sniff of a chance to govern. That cunt Vince Cable was almost salivating like a punter with his tongue over a whore's clit when he got wind of the possibility. We're still fucked." 

Sam grimaced at her boss's use of graphic imagery, as she placed the breakfast goodies on the desk in front of him. 

"What's this?" He enquired sharply, rustling the paper bag. 

"Croissant." 

"Where's my fucking muffin?" 

"They were out." 

" _Out?_ For fucks sake!" 

"Oh just eat it Malcolm and stop being such a child." 

He glared at her sharply, but her defiant stance defeated him. He caved in. Rolling over like a puppy who wanted his tummy tickled. 

_"God!"_ He snapped petulantly. 

"Any plans this weekend? The forecast is good." Sam was fussing around his files, doing her best to tidy the top of his workspace. 

"Mfpphmmfph." He replied, through a shower of pastry crumbs. 

Samantha Cassidy placed her hands on her hips like an indulgent parent, as she first watched him brush down his front, making a mess on the floor, then suspend the remains of the croissant between thumb and forefinger over the waste bin, shaking it, presumably to dislodge any remaining offending bits. 

"Run that past me again." She scowled, before stepping purposefully forward and placing the serviette she'd already provided but which he'd ignored, across his lap tucking it between his shirt buttons, as if he were three years old. 

His look to her was withering, so she poked out her tongue. 

Their banter was always good natured. They'd known each other for many years. The two gelled together like a comfy old pair of slippers. Each perfectly at home with the other.  
It never went too far, was never nasty. A deep and lasting respect existed between them. 

"I'm seeing Liv. We're going to do something.....don't know what though. We haven't discussed it." 

"Is this the same lady you had to see so urgently the other day in order to apologise for being such a cunt?" 

"Yes." 

"So you're seeing each other now?" 

"No." 

Sam looked confused. 

"So you're seeing her.....but you're not _seeing_ her?" 

"Exactly." 

Malcolm's face suddenly wore the aspect of one who had been coloured in. His PA found this extremely entertaining, and rather beguiling. 

Her boss was aware of her amusement at his expense and was distinctly put out. 

"Look Sam. Stop trying to marry me off, or date me off or whatever the hell it is you're doing. Me and Liv are friends. It's strictly platonic. We meet up occasionally, we might go out or have dinner or something. It's pleasant. No agendas, no expectations. That's the way I want it. Her too. We agreed. Okay?"

"So do I cancel your subscriptions to Match.com and Elite Singles then?" 

"Oh fuck _off!_ " 

Malcolm gave her a hard stare, but she just smiled sweetly at him.

"It's really not like that. I like her. She's a nice lass. That's as far as it goes. I don't need a fucking girlfriend. I've got enough on my plate as it is. My diary is as full as David Cameron's balls. I can do without the added complication."

"Well, I'm pleased to see you're making an effort anyway." She responded with evident satisfaction. "It's about time you got yourself out there again. She sounds delightful. When do I get to meet her?" 

"When I send round the wedding invites!" He snapped. 

"Soon then." Her laugh was a merry tinkle as she flounced to the door and opened it. "It's lovely to see you looking so happy anyway." 

Her parting lob. 

"What? Fucking piss taker!" He spat. 

Too late. 

She was gone. 

.........

Sam returned to her desk with a smile. She stared, unseeing at her computer screen. 

Her mind working as she mulled over what just happened. 

There was a change in him. A definite change. 

His eyes were brighter, his manner altered. His humour too. A little spark which she hadn't seen in him for a very long time. 

Try as he might, he could not hide it. 

It may be a wee seedling at the moment. Only just bursting through the soil. But she could see it already striving for the light. Unfurling it's pale leaves. Soon to strengthen and bear fruit. 

Sam smiled to herself at her own perception. 

He didn't know it yet, did he? 

Too early for him to discern. 

But she knew. She knew him better than he knew himself. 

Malcolm Tucker was in love. 

oOo

Liv had not woken with the usual Monday morning feeling. 

She entered the DoSaC workspace after her time off with a spring in her step. 

A new determination. 

For some reason the light on the events of the last two years seemed to be fading somehow, less sharp, like a waxing moon which sinks gracefully below the horizon. Yet her own sense of clarity seemed to be heightened.  
It was an odd feeling. Like the thrill of a fairground ride. 

To her consternation she spied a little knot of people gathered around her desk area. 

Supervisor Wendy, Tom, and inexplicably, the big boss, Terri Coverley from downstairs....

......The world of the Civil Servant was an odd one. Different from any other. 

It was a little like belonging to a old boys (or girls) exclusive club. 

There was a definite class system. 

With distinct ranks. 

Particularly in the social sense. 

The Permanent Secretaries worked alongside their allotted Minister. The smart Diplomats sent off to foreign climes to abide in posh dwellings and host lavish parties. Other Senior Executives stalked the corridors of power like an erstwhile Sir Humphrey. 

These were the Lords and Ladies of the system. The crème de la crème, rarely mixing with the hoi polloi. 

Beneath them were the higher graded under secretaries, followed by 'senior' or 'higher' executives, puffed up to pomposity by their own importance but not quite making the top grade. Terri fell into this category. 

Finally there were the minions, like Liv herself. 

Assistants to the execs, admin officers, clerical staff, those in a support role. Which, as well as the pen pushers also included prison officers, caterers and the like...... 

......Terri Coverley was extremely proud of the fact that she was a senior member of the civil service and Director of Communications at the department of Social Affairs and Citizenship. 

How the fuck she'd reached this lofty pinnacle was open to question. 

Not to mention the fact that her fancy title was just that. She was basically a Press Secretary. It meant that she was at the very most in the mid ranking, at worst in a job which was pretty meaningless in the great scheme of things. 

She was also pleased to tell anyone who would listen how she rose from the humblest of beginnings, working for the press corps at Sainsbury's, then onward and upwards to Head of Press at Waitrose, from where she was headhunted. 

Her mantra had been that she could help _'make the government run like a business_ '......yeah, thought Liv......Ratner's the Jeweller's! 

Malcolm referred to her as _'a fart in a frock_ '. 

This Liv now knew, couldn't 'unknow' and it always made her smirk rather cruelly. 

She also knew that Terri was an inveterate gossip and had a rather silly teenage crush on the Shadow Minister Peter Mannion. 

Somehow she'd managed to survive five Secretaries of State, mainly by ensuring that no matter how badly she cocked up, and she frequently did, that the shit didn't stick. 

Fucking Teflon coated. 

Right now, she was leaning her bottom against Liv's desk, deep in conversation with her colleagues. 

The three leaning in and speaking in hissing whispers. 

A vivid picture popped into Liv's mind of the three witches from Macbeth. 

_'Double, double toil and trouble;_  
_Fire burn and cauldron bubble.'_

Just a tiny snatch of their conversation reached her ears, before they spotted her and changed tack. 

_"......and apparently Robyn saw them in a restaurant together in Covent Garden....."_

As Liv approached there was a flurry of nudging and winking.

"Shhh! Here she comes......" 

The three separated conspiratorially, before Wendy, who was nearest to Liv's chair, raised her voice so that it was just a little louder than necessary. 

".....anyway, these are the figures we need typed out ASAP, entered onto the system and....." turning with feigned surprise, "....oh, hi Olivia! Lovely morning." 

Did they really think she was that stupid? 

Olivia did not wish to be the subject of office tittle-tattle. A quiet and shy person, she preferred to keep her head down and her mouth shut. Leaving such childish antics to others. 

Today was not that day. 

Today she was oddly empowered. 

Today she didn't give a flying fuck. 

"Everything okay?" She asked, archly. Knowing full well they'd been discussing her. 

"Yes, fine." Wendy simpered. "We were just....." 

"Talking about me? Yes I know. I'm neither deaf nor mentally incapacitated." 

Tom said nothing, but his look towards her was one of mild distaste, as if there were a nasty smell under his nose. 

"What's wrong Tom? You look like you've just found shit on your shoe." 

She could plainly see Terri and Wendy exchanging a glance to the side of her. 

What a pathetic bunch they were! 

Turning on the female pair she narrowed her eyes. 

"So.....what's the vastly superior brained Robyn been saying then?" 

Terri turned scarlet, mumbling "erm....nothing, I um....I must get back....." 

She began to sidle away. 

Wendy shuffled her feet uncomfortably, resolutely staring down at them. 

"What?" Liv persisted. "Nothing to say? And yet you seemed to have plenty just as I arrived....so come on....out with it.....what utter nonsense have your flapping ears heard that you've decided to share amongst yourselves like a group of fish wives, but you can't tell me? I'm eager to know." 

People on adjacent desks were, by now, leaning back in their chairs, trying not to make it obvious they were listening in. The hush which descended on the room was so thick it could be cut with a knife. 

Neither of her two immediate colleagues had ever heard Olivia Williams say so much as boo to a goose, and yet here she was, standing foursquare in front of them, her eyes keen and hard.  
Facing them down with a fearsome resolve. 

"She um....." Wendy faltered. "She thought she saw...." 

"She thought she saw what? Come on, spit it out!" Liv now had her hands on her hips. Demanding a response.  
For one so small she seemed to have grown suddenly in stature. 

"She thought she, um, saw you with Malcolm Tucker.....in a restaurant." 

"So?" 

Terri piped up once more....

"Well she could have been mistaken, or.....wait.....what?" 

"I said.....SO?" Liv repeated, with emphasis. 

"Well." Tom added. "It seemed so ridiculous, I mean....you normally have such good taste in everything and....." 

Wendy shot him a withering glance, but it was Liv's furious glare which actually silenced him. 

"That's right Tom! I do! Impeccable taste! It's the reason I turned _you_ down! And....." she watched Tom blanch with shame as she spun towards Wendy, "......it's also the reason I decide to say no to joining in on office events, as I know you only ask me as an afterthought or when someone else drops out and I realised that it was the single most mean and unkind thing one person could do to another, particularly when you know damn all about me and are completely unaware of the journey I've been on these past few years." 

She stopped to draw breath, several members of the room had now risen from their chairs and wandered over.  
Liv was drawing a crowd.  
However, she wasn't done yet. 

"As for you Mrs Coverley, you are supposed to be a superior member of staff here. One who is a leader, and as such should set an example to those below you. I'm surprised that you of all people should allow yourself to engage in idle speculation and malicious gossip, or worse still, to actually be the source of it. Shame on you!" 

Terri looked utterly shocked. 

"So I've been seen in a restaurant with Malcolm Tucker! So what? What's the big headline here? _'Man and woman eat dinner'?_ Big deal. Is that the best you can do? Or rather, that Robyn can do? All I can say is that if you all spent as much time on your work as you do talking about other people behind their backs, then this place would run like an Aston Martin!  
It is absolutely none of your business what I do outside of my working day, or with whom I choose to do it.  
So.....you gossip all you like, you make up your daft stories and share them round. It just shows me that you lack a life of your own to such an extent that you need to worry about mine. And now, if you're finished back stabbing, if you wouldn't mind moving away from my desk, I have work to do. I suggest you do the same." 

Although her breathing was fast and her hands shaking, Liv felt as if she were fuelled with adrenaline, prepared for anything, filled with an inner light which none of these pathetic people could extinguish.  
Amongst a great deal of murmuring, the other staff began filtering away.  
Tom, completely deflated. Wendy seething with a burning anger, and Terri, scuttling off like a hermit crab as the tide comes in. 

Much to her surprise, and great satisfaction, during the course of the day several random colleagues whom she'd barely spoken to in the past, came over surreptitiously to pat her on the back and tell her how pleased they were that finally someone had taken a stand against the venomous Wendy. Others voiced how they'd asked for Olivia to be included in gatherings in the past but had always been shouted down by her, and that she was always the organiser.  
It became clear that the woman had been conducting a smear campaign against Liv for some time, poisoning the others against her. 

Why? 

For fucks sake! _Why?_

Liv decided that she couldn't let it rest. She tackled her foe during the quietness of the afternoon tea break. 

Cornering her. 

"So. Wendy. You and I need to talk." 

"I have nothing to say to you." 

"Well I've plenty to say to you! Just what the hell is your bloody problem? You've had it in for me almost from the moment I came to work here one way or another. Why? What the fuck did I ever do to you?" 

Her adversary narrowed her eyes. There was hatred there. 

"Your ex husband has told me all about you." 

She poked a long crimson painted fingernail in Liv's direction. 

Liv felt as if she'd been punched in the gut. 

Nausea rose. 

"What a scheming little ice bitch you are. Oh, so sweet and light on the outside! Butter wouldn't melt! You think you're so fucking superior, looking down your nose at us. Especially Tom and me. Like you're too good for the likes of us. I _KNOW_! He left you because you're frigid and he no longer found you sexually attractive!!"

The coldness in her voice frothed and bubbled like liquid nitrogen. 

Olivia was reeling. Clutching the desktop behind her with both hands. Propping herself up as she suddenly felt faint. 

"I bet you and Tucker make a great couple. Just made for each other I reckon. You know his wife left him for the same reason? Two fucking pariahs. A pair of losers. Good luck with him love. You'll need it." 

Doing her best to rally, Liv steeled herself. 

"If you've spoken to my ex then you don't know the truth at all. You know only what you've been drip fed. If he's a friend of yours I feel sorry for you Wendy. Very sorry indeed." 

But the fight was gone from her, just as if she were a balloon popped with a pin. 

Wendy laughed in her face. 

"Oh! Spare me your fucking pity! Not nearly so heroic now are you? Other mugs might fall for your _'poor hard done by wife'_ act, but not me. Go run and hide little mouse....back down your hole where you belong. You and I are far from done!" 

Turning on her heels Wendy flounced out into the corridor. 

Her crushed opponent fled for the toilet, where she only just made it before putting her head down the pan. Retching as if her insides would come up. 

The light which bathed her earlier utterly extinguished. 

How could she ever recover from this?


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm turns up unannounced and it's the best thing he could possibly have done.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. 

_“Sometimes, reaching out and taking someone's hand is the beginning of a journey._  
_At other times, it is allowing another to take yours.”_  
― Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

............

 

The weekend dawned fair and clear. 

A lovely day. 

What a pity Liv didn't feel any joy whatsoever. 

She was up ridiculously early having slept poorly, but had so far only managed a shower and a coffee.  
Dressing in a baggy T shirt and joggers. Her damp hair tied in a messy bun. 

During the week she'd heard little from Malcolm, she knew he'd been here, there and everywhere and was manically busy. He texted when he could. 

Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday had been the worst three days of her working life. 

The office atmosphere crackled with tension. It seemed no one was talking, not to her or to each other, each employee keeping their heads down and staying out of trouble.  
Wendy said nothing. She didn't have to. Just the black looks were enough. 

Not a soul went near Liv. In fact there was very little interaction between any of the staff.  
She ate her lunch alone in silence, and took her coffee break alone too.  
Frozen out.  
Only Tom had tried to offer a friendly smile, but was immediately stopped in his tracks by a glare from Wendy.  
It seemed they were all terrified of her, not one brave enough to speak out. 

It was unbearable. 

On Friday, mercifully, she was away on a course and the whole mood changed. 

"This has to stop. But we don't know what to do." Sandra said, apologetically. "She's like the head honcho and her word on this floor is law."

"I think you're all a lot of sheep." Liv replied quietly. "A group of gutless wonders. Even if you couldn't overcome her sway individually, she could hardly take on all of you together. I think the way you've all treated me this last three days is unforgivable. So you'll forgive _me_ if I don't rush to you all with open arms, and say it's okay. It's NOT okay." 

She turned to Tom. 

"And you are the worst of all." She said sadly. "You are like her little lickspittle. How can you call yourself a man?" 

Her eyes scanned the group from where she sat at her desk as they gathered around her. 

"I think you should all be ashamed of yourselves. But hey. Wendy is triumphant. And much joy may she derive from her hollow victory. To tread down one of her colleagues and poison all the rest against her. A little gang. To shut out one person because she doesn't like her. She's a manipulative bully, and if you all can't see that then I feel sorry for you. You are adults for God's sake! Yet you behave like small children. Now please leave me alone." 

Slinking away, the little crowd went back to their desks, considering themselves well and truly put in their places. 

For the rest of the day, with Wendy not there, they murmured amongst themselves. Little meetings by the beverage machine.  
Liv thought them pathetic. 

At five on the dot she reached for her coat and left without a single word. 

Having watched her go, it was Tom who finally rallied the troops. 

"You do realise she's absolutely right don't you? Wendy has some agenda, I don't know what it is, but she disliked Olivia from the start. We've acted out of fear for our positions, Wendy and Terri are old friends, they support each other, but we are within our rights to complain if we stick together. As Senior staff Terri is duty bound to act on our concerns, otherwise she's in trouble herself. Please people, let's do this. Liv is a nice girl and we are being told who to like and who not to like. It's ludicrous. They can't sack us all." 

"No. But Wendy can get rid of Liv." Someone piped up. 

"No she can't." Commented another. "It would be unfair dismissal. And she knows it. That's why she's trying to freeze her out that way, and embroil us all into it as back up. She's a nasty piece of work. We have to show some gumption and some bloody solidarity." 

..........

How much lower could she possibly feel on this bright Saturday morning?

When would all this ever end? 

All she wanted was a little happiness. Was it so much to ask? 

Her doorbell rang loudly. 

'Must be the postman,' she thought. She was expecting a parcel. 

Malcolm Tucker. 

Casually dressed in jeans, an open collared shirt and a brown jacket. 

It was all she could do to prevent herself from flinging her arms around him. 

Standing there as he was. Hands in pockets. Looking up hopefully. 

"Malcolm!" She exclaimed. 

"Hiya. Sorry I didn't text, but it was too early and I thought you might still be having a lie in." 

"No such luck. Come in." 

She stood back to allow him to enter. 

"Have you eaten yet? I wondered if you fancied going out for breakfast." 

"Oh, Malc, I'd love to! That'd be great!" 

Her eagerness both surprised and pleased him, he couldn't help but suppress a smile. 

"Tough week?" He probed gently. 

"Trust me, you don't wanna know!" 

Glancing at herself in the hall mirror, she frowned. 

"Christ! I look a fucking state." She groaned. 

"I was just thinking how nice your hair looks up....suits you." 

She gave him a withering look. 

"You _are_ kidding!" 

"I'm not actually. Listen, in my humble opinion you'd look good in a sack with a bag on your head! Come on, let's go. I'm really hungry." 

........

He had saved her. 

Yet again. 

By turning up out of the blue. Unannounced. 

She was more grateful for his company than she could possibly say. 

Seated across from her in the friendly little local cafe, he listened quietly to her tale of woe. 

"I feel as if my ex reaches into every aspect of my life. He's like a cancer that invades, I have chemo, I get rid of him, but then he comes back. Just when I think I'm in remission. I'll never be free of him." 

Malcolm looked thoughtful. 

"Terri and Robyn are easily dealt with. But this Wendy, I've heard tell of her before. Draper isn't it?" 

"Yes! You know her?" Liv spoke through a mouthful of the most delicious eggs Benedict. 

"Oh I know her alright. Or I know her reputation. Bone hole the size of the fucking Mersey Tunnel. Not that I've ever been there mind." He grimaced. "She's a fucking tart. Or was. Spreads her legs for anyone she deems might get her promotion. Hence being elevated way above her competence. You know she once did 'art photos'?" He raised his hands and made speech marks to emphasise. 

"Art photos? When was this?" 

Malcolm sipped his cappuccino, leaning back in his chair. 

"Oh, way back in the day. Hugh Abbott told me. He found them online....he would! Dirty sod! Centre fold smut. You know, Skin Mag, double page stroke fodder with a staple through the middle of her belly! Not sure how she got a job in the Civil Service if I'm honest. They are usually more discerning. Vet them more carefully. Presumably she kept quiet about it. I suppose it's not a crime. But let's just say she's been around a bit." 

"Probably how she knows my ex. That's just the bag he's into."

"I shall do a little quiet digging. Not much intel gets passed me. We'll see what can be done about the delightful Wendy. She might be able to terrorise an entire floor but she doesn't fucking scare me." 

Liv looked devastated. 

"What's the matter? You mustn't let her get to you Liv. She's a fucking Medusa. One look and she freezes the guts out of people. I don't entirely blame them, lily livered perhaps but they are frightened for their jobs. But I'll deal with her. Don't you worry." 

"That's just it though. You have so much to deal with, so much shit to shovel. You shouldn't have to be bailing me out of a situation. I should be strong enough to handle it by myself. To ignore her and get on with it. You're not meant to be Sir Lancelot, my fucking knight in shining armour!" 

Malcolm smiled broadly. 

It was a lovely smile. 

"On this occasion, _Guinevere_ , I am. And there are always a few minutes here and there in the day, where I ride in to sort out vicious bitches with looks that can curdle milk. Consider her dealt with." 

He slapped his thighs with his hands. 

"Right! You all done?" 

Liv nodded sorrowfully. 

"Good. No more fucking miseries eh? Then let's find that nice park and have a stroll, the sun is out, it's a lovely day. No more long face now, okay?" 

Her smile was genuine. 

"Deal!" She replied, pushing back her empty plate. 

oOo

"Do you miss it?" 

They were seated side by side on a park bench in the warm spring sunshine. 

Shoulder to shoulder. Close. 

A companionable silence until Liv spoke. 

Malcolm had leaned back his head. Raising his chin and closing his eyes beneath his shades.  
A deep exhale of restful contentment. 

His exposed throat seemed so pale, the skin stretched tight across his Adam's apple. 

Liv was momentarily fascinated. 

"Miss what?" He replied with a languid drawl, his eyelashes fluttering as he relaxed. 

"Drinking." 

He righted himself again with a puff. 

"Fuck yeah!" He breathed. "All the time." 

"It must be so hard." 

Her companion shrugged in a noncommittal way. 

"Meh! Sometimes it is, sometimes not." He turned to look at her. "Sometimes I'd kill my fucking granny for a nice earthy Scotch on the rocks. Or a crisp cold sav blanc. But I can't do it. It's all or nothing with me Liv. In everything. I just have an addictive personality. Nothing by fucking halves. Booze, work, life, love. The whole shebang."

"I admire the way you fight it and win." She replied simply. 

"I don't do it alone. I have help. Without it I'd be on that bench over there." He nodded forwards. "Lying under newspaper, with a bottle in a brown paper bag." 

"I understand what it feels like to become that low." She rejoined. "To just not care anymore. To be so close to giving up. Utter loss and despair. In my darkest moments I could easily have succumbed to addiction too." 

Malcolm sighed deeply. 

"Sometimes I hoped that if I drank enough I'd go to sleep and not wake up. I just couldn't see a way forward. No matter how hard I tried. I missed it all so much you see. Just having someone, holding, being with, laughing, loving, everything. So fucking empty. Still am." 

Reaching a hand across, she closed it over his and gently squeezed. 

"Not quite." She murmured. "Not completely." 

Malcolm looked down at the hand, the little fingers curled around his own, then back to her face. 

"Maybe. We all battle in one way or another Liv. Every day. Sink or swim. You know that as well as I do." 

"Yes. Yes I do." 

Her attention was fixed on some children playing rounders on the grass directly adjacent to where they sat. She seemed far away. Wandering somewhere in thought where he couldn't follow.  
Malcolm could see her eyes flicking from batter to bowler, then to a lose dog which careered across the playing square.  
Squinting against the sun's golden light.  
When she eventually spoke again it was as if from a vast distance. Small and tremulous. 

"The doctor said I was anxious and depressed. He prescribed me pills to help me sleep. There were times I could easily have taken the whole bottle. I got rid of them in the end. I didn't like what they made me into. I'd rather have insomnia."

A pain jabbed his chest, making him swallow thickly. 

He lifted their still joined fists, pulling her back down to earth. 

"Let's walk a bit." He suggested. "The breeze is chilly when you're still for too long." 

They rose together. She in a dream. 

Walked. 

Fingers remaining interlocked. 

Liv had the sensation that the sun was forming a pathway ahead of her and instead of keeping to the walkway she was actually lifting upwards like a balloon, her feet leaving the concrete and flailing for purchase. Light as a feather.  
Only his large warm hand anchored her. 

He was giving her sideways glances, as if to ascertain her thoughts. 

Nervous, he seemed reluctant to speak, as if to do so might shatter some precious moment for her. Although he could not think what that would be. 

"Are you sure you're ok with this?" He asked eventually, when he could bear it no longer. 

Her look was one of confusion. As if she hadn't even realised they were walking hand in hand at all. 

"Wha....?Oh.......yes. It's nice." 

Their way ahead dipped beneath the canopy of the trees. A breeze rustled the newly budding branches over their heads.  
A hissing whisper which spoke of rumour and secrets. The hushed voices of the natural world.  
Twittering birds busied themselves, a squirrel ran down a trunk almost at their feet.  
It all seemed so perfect. Too perfect.  
As if one false move would bring the whole lot crashing down. 

Sunshine, blue sky, trees, everything. Blown away in an instant because he was foolishly forgetting himself. 

"Liv?"

"What is it?" She looked at him more closely then, anticipating a question. 

"Don't let me make a cunt of myself. Stop me before I overstep the mark. Promise me. Please." 

There was a glitter of a single sparkling dewdrop in the corner of her lashes. For a moment it was there, before tipping over, traversing the left side of her nose and reaching her lip even as he looked on. 

"I promise. Malcolm.....help me out here.....it isn't just me who's feeling this is it? It isn't my imagination. I know everything we said n'all, and I've found new friends before....but it never felt like this. Is it me? Or do you feel this.....this....I dunno.....I can't describe it....the words just aren't there.....?"

"Fuck knows! I don't understand what the fuck is happening. I'm stumbling along in the dark just as you are." 

His face as he looked down at her was stricken. Brow furrowed with anxiety. 

"But it's comfortable....isn't it? It's easy. We are just ourselves. Is it because it isn't complicated do you think? Or is it strengthening? Cos I keep experiencing this weird thrill feeling in my tummy, like I'm scared but excited at the same time. And I'm not sure what it is or what to do about it." 

Her companion shook his head. 

"Look Liv. I'm just desperately trying not to get carried away. Y'know? Just hanging on to my sanity here. You're fucking with ma hid. Not on purpose I know, but.....well! All I know for sure is that _this_...." he raised their still clasped hands, ".....this feels right. It feels okay. It feels like fog is clearing, like the web of fucking misery I've been caught in this last three years is falling to pieces. But I'm on this terrible brink, scared shitless I'm gonna fall....." 

They had reached a point where several pathways met. A small stone fountain in the centre. 

"It's like this." Liv whispered as they came to a halt. 

"Like what?" 

"A crossroads. Which path to take next?" 

"Fuck me. There's a fucking apt metaphor right there!" 

She glanced up at him, the sunlight almost blinding her. 

"I'm scared too." She admitted. 

Both stared helplessly ahead. 

"My ex was never honest with me. She just fed me a load of lies, told me what I wanted to hear. Agreed with me even if she didn't, to keep me happy. I was so fucking blind Liv. If we can just be honest with each other I think we'll be okay. If we can just hang on to that truth.....you understand?" 

"I do. I spent four years kidding myself Malcolm. Telling myself that everything was alright in my marriage. That I was a fool to question my husband. He loved me and he'd never hurt me. I was wrong. It messed me up so badly.  
Trusting someone is so hard, because when you don't know someone well you are still learning. I.....we....have to take this slowly. As you say, not get carried away. But it is nice isn't it? This feeling? It is a good thing?" 

Malcolm smiled. 

"Yeah." He agreed. "It's fucking brilliant." 

"Now!" He spun around in a circle, pulling her with him. "Which way?" 

She giggled, pondering for a few seconds. Eventually reaching a decision. 

"That way." She smiled, pointing to her left. 

"Why that way?" 

"Because I can spy a coffee shop!" 

"Good shout! C'mon! If you beat me I'll buy you a doughnut!" 

Loosing her hand, he set off at a run. 

Liv squealed with indignation and sprinted after him. 

She soon caught up. 

"You run like a teenage girl in high heels." She chortled as she overtook him, barely out of breath. 

"Fuck you!" He yelled as she jogged effortlessly away.


	18. Chapter Eighteen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm is pulling strings and fighting fires. What he does best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is Malcolm at the height of his powers. Clever, devious and scheming, but his motivation has the best of intentions. 
> 
> Mariella Shitstrop is of course a play on the name of the broadcaster Mariella Frostrup, famously blonde and so associated in Malcolm's mind with Robyn.  
> The detail about her mother is canon to the show. 
> 
> Nurse Ratchet, the name Malcolm chooses to give to Terri, is the rather sadistic mental nurse in the book 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest'. By Ken Kesey.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. 

_“Stand up for someone who is in need_  
_so that it will build confidence in you_  
_to stand up for yourself at times when required...”_  
― Adil Adam Memon

............

Terri Coverley turned the official looking brown envelope over and over in her hands. 

It was marked _'for the attention of....Director of Communications DoSAC'_ and looked very sinister. 

Several scenarios ran through her head. A disciplinary note? A warning? Simply a section meeting perhaps? 

Taking the bull by the horns, she tore the seal and withdrew the contents. 

It was embossed with Her Majesties Government coat of arms letter heading, printed but hand signed by the Senior Executive to the Secretary of Government Departments. Her superior. 

Oh lord! 

Her eyes scanned the page, focussing on the words _'we have received a formal complaint'_ ,her gaze widened in consternation. 

After reading with a cold chill on her heart for several moments she realised that the complaint was not against her personally.  
The letter stated that the matter was being passed to her to deal with in an appropriate manner. 

It contained a photocopy of an original grievance document, signed by almost the entire floor above, and was aimed directly at Wendy Draper. 

Terri breathed a sigh of relief for herself. It wasn't her. She was off the hook. Thank God! 

But what to do? 

This was going to require most delicate handling. 

She would need an extra long coffee break to think about it.

oOo

 

The windowless cubby hole which contained the photocopier was dingy even with the light on. 

Robyn waited patiently beside it, feeding it's open maw with page after page, watching while it coughed them out at the other end in duplicate. 

Lost in her task. 

Carefully shuffling the finished sheets into a neat pile she turned to leave, almost jumping out of her skin. 

Behind her, standing in silence, leaning his shoulder nonchalantly against the framework, almost entirely filling the doorway, was Malcolm. 

It was as if he'd recently materialised. 

His arms were folded, one leg crossed easily over the other. 

Eyes glittering with the mild maliciousness she always associated with him. 

"Malcolm! Gosh! You startled me." 

He idly mused that she resembled a young deer, who, having been peacefully grazing, had raised its head to find itself entirely surrounded by lions. 

"Morning Robyn." 

His voice held a quiet malevolence, and it terrified her. 

"What do you want with me?" 

Flustered, she made to walk passed him, but he effectively blocked her exit. 

Towering over her menacingly. 

Except he wasn't really, he was just standing there. But to her it seemed the very harbinger of doom. 

"I wanted a word." He began, shifting slightly. "In private." 

Robyn swallowed. 

"Oh?" She replied, feigning indifference. "What about?"

"There are certain things I know Robyn. Things about each and every employee in this building. It's my job to know, it's my business to know.....no one takes a fucking dump in this place without me knowing whether or not they washed their hands afterwards.....do you get me?" 

The tone he used was quiet, but every word struck fear into her heart. 

She nodded emphatically, to show she _'got him'_ only too well. 

"Now, you see Robyn, it's like this, the thing I know about you....or rather about your mother.....I'm sure is not the kind of thing you'd want bandied about in polite society.....do you follow?" 

Her eyes widened in horror. 

"But...how....." She stammered, welling up instantly. 

"Office gossip Robyn. It's a truly horrible thing. But.....and here's the thing.....I would never tell a soul that your mother struggles with alcoholism, and that you frequently have to take care of her.....I would keep such information strictly to myself. Because it's private and it's not my place to judge or to speculate. Can you guess where this is going?" 

Robyn nodded slowly as the cogs in her head turned relentlessly. 

"So! When it reaches my ears that _someone_....." The emphasis on the word 'someone' was heavily weighted. "..... _someone_ , has been talking about me and my private life in much the same way, can you imagine what that does to me? How that makes me feel?" 

Her face turned deathly pale. 

Malcolm ignored it and continued. 

"Hearing that my recreational affairs are being discussed behind my back? Well, I'm sure you can understand how very angry that might make me, ye ken?"  
He shifted again, rising to his full height.  
"So angry in fact that I might have to take action against that nasty minded gossipmonger, should I discover who it was. My wrath would be terrible to witness, it would be nuclear in its ferocity, with the use of violent sexual imagery and such profanities that the air in this entire building would turn blue. Am I painting a picture for you here?" 

Again Robyn nodded dumbly. One hand straying towards her throat. 

"Anyway!" He smiled, suddenly bright and cheerful. "I'll be away to my work, but don't forget this little conversation, Mariella Shitstrop, because if any more rumours of that nature come my way, the photocopy room won't be a safe place to hide." 

In an instant he was gone. Leaving Robyn leaning against the wall, breathing as if she'd run a marathon. 

oOo

It was easy on this floor to see when someone was coming. 

Open plan. 

Nicola's office like a goldfish bowl. All of the desks arranged in the reception area outside it were able to see in. 

Ollie, Glenn, Terri and others, placed around the periphery, inexplicably at this time surrounded by around a dozen large bottles of water which were intended for the 'hydration station' in the corner. 

Someone had massively over ordered! 

At this moment, as Malcolm entered from the stair landing, Terri was nowhere to be seen. 

Malcolm accosted Oliver Reader. 

"Where's Nurse Ratchet?" He demanded without ceremony. 

"I think she's gone down to the canteen." 

"Right!" 

Turning on his heel he walked briskly back the way he'd come. 

"Oh Christ!" Glenn remarked. "Malcolm is on the warpath! God help Ms Coverley." 

"God help us all." Ollie replied with a snigger. 

..........

The canteen was fairly quiet at this time in the morning, so Malcolm easily spied Terri, sitting alone at a table, with her back to him.  
He skirted around the periphery, grabbed a tray, purchased himself a coffee and two shortbread biscuits wrapped in polythene and made his way over. 

She was engrossed in the perusal of a letter, and didn't see him coming. 

"May I join you?"

A flurry of movement as she stashed the paper in her bag with unseemly haste, before he could get a good look at it. 

"God! Malcolm! How do you just appear out of nowhere like that?" 

"I teleport. What can I say? It's a gift." 

She regarded him with a sceptical eye, her face red with guilt at being caught. She knew very well that he had seen her letter, with it's brazon header. For all she knew he could read print upside down. 

"We need a chat." 

"I have to be getting back." 

"Terri. You don't have to be getting anywhere. No one gives a fuck where you are. Government still continues, the department trundles on, people still breathe in and out...." 

"You're not funny Malcolm."

"Au contraire! Anyway, I have a proposition to put to you. Something I thought I'd run past you." 

He peeled back the wrapper on his biscuits and dunked the first into his coffee carefully, before taking a bite. 

"Oh?" In spite of herself she was intrigued. 

"You know my friend Jim, the Minister for Agriculture and Fisheries?" 

"Parker. Yes, I know him. Thinks he's Simon Templar." 

Malcolm raised an eyebrow quizzically. 

"Well, he does! He's all suave and sophisticated. Hanky in his top pocket. Drives an MG." 

With a nod of acceptance at this description, her adversary continued undaunted. 

"That aside....his Director of.....of....'stuff' is resigning. Don't ask me why, call it artistic differences. Anyway, the long and the short of it is this. He needs a replacement ASAP and he asked me to keep my ear to the ground. Can you think of anyone who might be suitable?" 

Terri Coverley was about to shake her head to the negative, when a sudden thought struck her. 

This was manna from heaven! 

The answer to all her prayers. The perfect solution to a difficult conundrum. The result of which would solve all her problems in one fell swoop, whilst earning her all the plaudits. 

"Hmmm." She murmured, pretending to ponder. "Well, as it happens, I may have just the right candidate." 

"It has to be someone who is a good leader. Experienced in the field. Someone who doesn't take any shit. They'll need to be used to the work and suitable for promotion if they are a lower grade." 

"You don't need to explain the workings of the Civil Service to me, Malcolm. I understand what's required." 

"So. I gave Jim a couple of suggestions, but, I thought with your vast knowledge and experience, I'd ask you first." 

Terri puffed out her chest. 

"I'm flattered." 

Malcolm did his best to hide his smirk. 

"Shall I tell him you'll be in touch then? Obviously it's really nothing to do with me, but he contacted me as a friend, so I thought I ought to at least try to help!" 

"Yes. Please do. Thank you Malcolm. I'm very glad you came to me." 

.........

She watched him walk smartly away, as a smile of satisfaction spread across her face. 

_Yes!_

The perfect outcome. 

To be able to tell Floor 4 that she had listened to their concerns and acted accordingly. 

Forthwith, Wendy Draper would be transferred to a different department. 

In a single stroke the malcontents would be assuaged and Wendy would be sweetened by the lure of a promotion, still looking upon her as a good and loyal friend. 

........

Malcolm mounted the stairs two at a time. 

Heading for Liv's floor. 

His next appointment was with Tom. 

Because he was a rare sight in this section, heads turned as he swept passed, marching briskly, his ID lanyard flapping in the breeze of his own making. 

Liv spotted him early, and ducked herself into the protective screening of the side panels which separated her workspace from that of her neighbour.  
Suddenly she was extremely and thoroughly engrossed in the latest stats she was inputing. 

Malcolm however, did not look away from his trajectory. 

The small cordoned area at the end of the row. 

Tom raised his eyes at the sound of the footsteps and swallowed thickly. 

Oh boy! Now he was in big trouble!

Brushing passed Wendy as if she were a bug to be swotted, he held out a hand to shake. 

"Tom is it?" 

It was with amusement that he watched the colour drain from the younger man's face. 

"Sorry to be such a nuisance and drag you from your work, but I need some constituency figures and I'm told you are the man with the mathematical brain and the technical know how to help. Is that correct?" 

"Well, I....um....." Tom spluttered. "Of course. Anything I can I do to assist....." 

Spinning on his heels, Malcolm now deigned to acknowledge Wendy's presence. 

"Hope you don't mind me borrowing your computer whizz kid here. The fate of the country may depend on it!" He explained, with a false, rictus smile. 

"Why, not at all...." she began, but he cut her off before she could finish. 

"Good, good. Won't take long. I promise I'll return him to you in the same condition I found him." 

Off he set again, without waiting for a response, at a pace so fast that Tom had to trot to keep up. 

.........

On the floor below he led the way to the interview suite. It was the same as Nicola's office; glass walls all round. 

"In you come. Have a seat." Malcolm barked. 

Tom lowered himself into the proffered chair slowly and with evident confusion. 

Taking a seat himself, Malcolm leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, his hands threaded together in front of him. 

"I expect you're wondering what this is _really_ about." His opener. Two laser-like eyes piercing the younger man's with a perceptive gaze. 

"I think I can guess." 

"Good! So I won't fuck about the bush then." 

"Beat." 

"Eh?" 

"It's beat.....about the bush....." 

"Fuck works better for me." 

Tom shut his mouth tight. 

"Let's get down to the nitty-gritty shall we? A certain letter of complaint has come over my radar....." Malcolm unfurled his fingers and began drumming them rhythmically on the desk top. The sound made Tom wince. 

"I......we......how did you.....?" He stammered. 

Ceasing his timpani abruptly, Malcolm gave a wry smile, tapping the side of his nose.

"Nothing happens in this department without me getting wind of it. Call it jungle drums, call it sixth sense, call it what you will.....but I happen to know that Terri Coverley is in receipt of a formal procedural letter from the 'powers above', along with a copy of your demand, and that you are the first signatory. Therefore it's to you I come." 

"I'm not retracting it." Tom stated boldly. 

"I'm not asking you to." 

"The person in question has been utterly dreadful. Unkind and unprofessional. She has a vendetta against a particular member of our staff, and as second in command it was up to me to do something......wait.....what.....you're not......? Then what's all this about?" 

Malcolm leaned back easily in his chair. 

"Normally I wouldn't get involved. Dissent in the ranks is not ultimately my problem, particularly when it involves the Civil Servants, but on this occasion Terri has asked for my input." 

"Am I going to get the sack? I'll not lie down!" He pushed back his seat forcefully, making to stand up. "I'll take it to a tribunal. I'll contact the ombudsman. I'll...."

"Tom! Sit your arse down, and shut the fuck up for a moment! Christ! You're like a fucking Cub Scout leader who's just been accused of misuse of his woggle with an eight year old...." 

The flushed and defensive man now reseated opposite him, suddenly looked shocked. 

Malcolm hesitated. 

"Jesus! You haven't been, have you?" 

Scandalised. An emphatic negative shake of the head. 

"Thank fuck for that! Now then, what the department upstairs needs is someone who won't take any shit lying down. Someone prepared to support his or her colleagues when they can see an injustice taking place. It requires a person with man management skills. Fairness and empathy. In short, a worker's champion. Righting wrongs and not being afraid to stick their neck out. Now! I think that that person is sitting in front of me. What do you think?" 

The full gambit of emotions swept across Tom's face. 

"You're joking?" 

"Do I look as if I'm joking?" 

"You mean you're going to promote me?" 

"It's not my place to hire and fire Tom. I can only suggest, ease the process, pull the odd string perhaps."

"But why? Why would you do that? What do you want from me?" 

"Am I asking you to sell your soul to the devil for thirty pieces of silver do you mean?" 

"Well......yes." 

"Tom. Let's get this straight. I want nothing more from you other than the smooth running of the department under your control. As does Terri. She, as Director of Communications, cannot be everywhere at once.  
She needs to be able to delegate. To trust the Senior Executives to work with her and _for_ her. It is our belief that your floor is not running smoothly at present. On the contrary, we apparently have Eva Braun at the helm. There is angry muttering from the minions, Tom, the peasants are revolting. This cannot be allowed to continue. Therefore you will be taking Frau Draper's place, she is being transferred to the Department of Ag and Fish.  
Harmony and accord will return to Floor 4. Peace will reign. The mighty cogs of DoSaC will turn unimpeded once again and I will hear no more of this bitch slapping.  
But, mark my words, if, in the future, I hear of any similar occurrences I will rain down on you such a torrent of slurry that you will never be free from the stench of shit again. I will personally see to it that your knob is removed from your torso and placed on a hook on the wall with a bell on the end which I shall ring every time I come onto that floor. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes. Mr Tucker." 

"Good!" Malcolm rose good naturedly and stretched out his hand. "Don't let me down Tom. I'm counting on you." 

"I won't. Thank you Mal....er Mr Tucker." 

He clasped the palm firmly with his own. 

Turning away, he made to leave. 

Malcolm called him back. 

"And keep this information to yourself for the time being. It wouldn't do to crow from the rooftops before the old hen is safely plucked, trussed and in the oven." 

"No _sir_. Mum's the word." 

Malcolm gave an odd sideways wink. 

"I like the way you're working!" 

Tom had the distinct impression that Malcolm's smile was not entirely genuine, but there was little he could do to reassure himself. 

However he ascended the stairs with a much lighter step than when he'd followed Malcolm down less than thirty minutes earlier, utterly convinced his career was over. 

.......

With a great deal of satisfaction, and the feeling of a morning thoroughly well spent, Malcolm returned to No 10. 

Here he had a proper office. 

It was not a transparent aquarium. It was solid, with panelling. A regulation window. Portraits on the walls.  
The decor was plush and comfortable.  
He could close his door and be cocooned.  
There was even a pantry! 

Sam brought him tea. 

Glancing at his smug expression. 

_"Malcolm?"_ Her tone was questioning and slightly wary. 

"What have you done? You're looking way too pleased with yourself." 

He tried to present 'injured' or even 'innocent' but with an expressive face like Malcolm's it just didn't wash. 

"Is it something bad?" She persisted. "Do I need to saddle the horses?" 

Malcolm grinned. 

"Just a wee staff reshuffle, that's all. Nothing for you to worry about!" 

Sam looked highly sceptical. 

"Run along Sam. As Garbo said, _'I want to be alone_ '." 

"Don't forget you have a press meeting in half an hour." 

Her boss sighed. His mood dissipating with every moment.

Once his door was firmly shut, Malcolm leaned his chair back and placed his feet on the desk, crossed at the ankle, at his ease. 

Reaching for his mobile he began to text rapidly. 

_"Morning Guinevere"_

He waited impatiently, tapping his fingers on the desk. As he watched, the ticks on the WhatsApp turned blue, indicating the message as read.  
Like a child on Christmas morning he could barely contain himself. 

Shortly, the phone pinged in his hand.

 _"Morning Sir Lancelot!"_

Then....

 _"What the fuck is going on here Malcolm? Wendy has been hauled out of the office for a meeting with Terri and the big cocks.....Tom disappeared off with you and came back looking like he'd been handed a fat royalty cheque and a new recording contract.....what have you done?"_

Typing his response rapidly, he pressed send. 

_"A little tweaking."_

"Tweaking? _What the fuck does that mean?_ " 

_"Wendy is to be offered a new post and the Dept of Ag and Fish. She'll enjoy working with Jim Palmer. They'll get on famously, like a punter with a stripper."_

_"What???"_

_"She'll think it was Terri's doing. A favour for a friend. Your whole floor put in a complaint. All I've done is made Terri's life easy for her by helping to solve her knotty little staffing problem. I've spared her Floor 4 anarchy."_

_"My whole floor?"_

_"Yep. Seems they like you more than you think."_

_"Christ! What about Tom? He came back looking like he'd just been given a very satisfying orgasm."_

Malcolm roared with laughter. 

_"I can assure you I'm far more discerning than that, when it comes to handing out sexual favours! But he has been promoted."_

_"WHAT. THE. ACTUAL. FUCK?"_

_"He's the perfect replacement."_

_"He's an arse!"_

_"An arse he may be, but he's in my pocket, and that's what matters."_

_"Seriously though, Malc. He doesn't deserve it. He was Wendy's lackey."_

_"And now he's mine. You keep your friends close Liv, and your enemies closer. Where he is now I can keep an eye on him, and he knows it."_

_"Well. This wasn't quite the morning I'd expected I must say."_

_"I had a wee chat with Robyn too. She won't be spreading any more gossip."_

_"I hope you didn't threaten her."_

_"Threaten her?_ Moi? _I don't need to threaten love. The mere sight of me and she shits herself. I just state the facts, her own conscience does the rest."_

_"I can't believe you've done all this......for me?"_

_"Of course for you. Guinevere. I've done it because I can. It's no big deal."_

_"Well! Thank you. Sir Lancelot!"_

_"Listen, I gotta go. I have a press meeting to attend. Prithee fair maid.....art thou free after work?"_

A string of laughing emojis with tears pinged back. 

_"Yes kind Sir. Mayhap I am."_

_"Dinner then? I'll pick you up at 8?"_

_"8 it is. And don't spare the horses!"_


	19. Chapter Nineteen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liv has a question for Malcolm. It throws him a bit of a curve ball......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter marks a definite change for both parties. It's more a realisation than anything, and then an exploration.  
> It's a beginning.......

CHAPTER NINETEEN. 

_“This time when we kiss, I feel it in the pit of my stomach, I feel it in my heart. And I realize love isn't about sex. It's about connection.”_  
― Ellen Hopkins

 

.............

The final days before the election were ones which Liv would always remember. 

They were the calm before the storm. 

There was a feeling of something momentous coming on the wind. A time of upheaval and great change. 

She likened it in her mind to those halcyon days before the First World War that she'd read about, when Edwardian England basked in the light of Empire and prosperity, long golden summers of boating and muslin dresses, tea on the lawn and cricket. 

Although busy she and Malcolm spent quality time in each other's company. 

As a friendship theirs grew stronger. There were hugs. A typical greeting would be a kiss on both cheeks. 

Little by little they each learned more of what made the other tick. 

Liv never felt harangued by him, and he never felt trapped by her. 

When they walked they held hands. It was okay. 

She found his ribald humour eye wateringly funny.  
His propensity to describe exactly what he saw or felt and not hold back. 

Some of their conversations were deep and meaningful, some frivolous or even decidedly silly. 

It didn't seem to matter. 

There were no disagreements or even moments of discord between them. Somehow it didn't seem necessary to argue.  
Differences of opinion certainly, one just as able to fight their corner as the other.  
In fact Malcolm found Liv a worthy adversary on many occasions, and her general knowledge was far superior to his. 

She was quieter and less ebullient than he. More apt to moments of reflection before speaking. Her temperament complimented his admirably.  
Fire and water.  
Where he was stubborn she was pliable. 

The sandpaper to his rough edges. 

Malcolm found her influence calming. Liv could melt his anger with a few soothing words.  
Whilst in turn he was a great motivator for her. Possessing a tendency to lethargy when feeling down, he could chivvy her into action and elicit a smile where there once was a frown.  
Both could be prone to depressive outbursts at times, moments when their individual pasts caught up with them, but together as a team they seemed to be equipped to fight the blues and do something to cheer either themselves or each other. 

Did Liv miss him when she didn't see him? Of course. Just as she would any other friend or even someone closer.  
Without him however, her life continued its path, she read, she went off on her bicycle, hung out in the coffee shop, did all the things she used to do when by herself. 

And Malcolm? 

Well, it was perhaps a little different for him. 

He did not thrive well alone. 

Plenty of people don't. 

He was the type who quickly became bored with his own company. 

Therefore the time spent with Olivia was something to be treasured. Looked forward to. Not to be taken for granted. 

While she was not yet essential to his wellbeing, at times she came damn close. 

He tried not to think about it too much. Best not. 

Just enjoy it for what it was, make the most of it. 

.........

The weekend before the election Thursday was a quiet one. 

Campaigning was winding down. 

Saturday, Malcolm had gone to Liv's house on the promise of a decent meal, since he'd been eating nothing but crap all week. 

Now they were seated on the sofa side by side, in close proximity. She reading her book quietly so as not to disturb him whilst he perused a print out of the latest polling figures. 

His hard graft and careful strategies had indeed gained the Party one more extra percentage point. 51% to 49% was where the two main parties stood, and there were numerous unpredictable areas which, through a miracle, might just swing it their way.  
Although Malcolm wouldn't be holding his breath. A hung parliament was still by far the most likely outcome in his opinion.

Tonight he'd arrived dressed for relaxing, soft grey T shirt and black jeans. Feet up on a pouffe. In his socks. His toes wiggling unconsciously as he focussed, much to Liv's quiet amusement. 

Concentrating hard on the figures, adding little marginal notes in biro, he was completely absorbed. 

The atmosphere was at once peaceful and comforting. Malcolm felt completely tranquil and at home here, knowing that she was sitting happily beside him.  
Such serenity he'd rarely known before. 

Unaware therefore, that his companion had stopped reading and was staring ahead of her, deep in thought. 

"Malcolm?" 

She broke into his consciousness with all the subtlety of a sledge hammer. 

Making him jerk at the sound of her voice. 

"Christ! You nearly gave me a fucking heart attack! What is it?" 

"Do you find me sexually attractive?"

Now that was a bolt from the blue! 

Malcolm's brow creased in consternation. 

"What sort of a fucking question is that?"

"I won't be offended if you don't. I just wondered that's all."

She was looking at him now, her face quizzical. Waiting patiently for his reply.

"Where's this come from all of a sudden?" He hedged, feeling himself becoming sweaty around the neck. 

"It was something Wendy said." 

"For fucks sake Liv! Why are you even...."

She interrupted. 

"She said my ex told her he went with the other women because he no longer found me sexually attractive." 

"Cobblers! More likely he was just a randy bastard who couldn't keep it in his fucking pants." He retorted smartly. 

"When she said those words it was like I'd been punched in the stomach. Knowing that you're not attractive in that way is a real confidence kicker. It made me feel this big......" 

She held up her hand, the finger and thumb a couple of inches apart. 

".......it still does.....so that's why I was wondering, and I thought if I asked you, you at least would be honest with me.....but you don't have to say if you'd rather not." Her eyes looked sad, not about to cry, but sorrowful, as if a part of her had died inside when she was told this cruel information. 

Malcolm gathered his thoughts. Colouring slightly. 

"Well, yes I do as it happens." 

Liv's face showed only the merest flicker of change. 

"You do?" She repeated quietly. 

Malcolm placed his files to one side, so as to engage with her fully. 

"Olivia, you are scarily bright, you're funny, articulate and unendingly kind....." 

"But I meant physically?" She persisted. 

"Yeah, I know what you meant, but that's not how it works for me. Attractiveness isn't necessarily on the outside. Everyone is attractive to someone in one way or another. It doesn't have to be looks." 

Her eyes wavered from his earnest gaze, he could see she was struggling with some inner demon, placed there by a toxic, vindictive woman, who was probably jealous of her if the truth be known. 

Reaching out his hand, he took hers firmly and held it tight. 

"Liv. You are so beautiful. I've always thought so. You have lovely eyes, you have gorgeous hair, your smile is to die for. You dress impeccably and you always look fab. I'm a bloke at the end of the day.....even if I am an old fucker....far too old for a lovely lass like you, so hey, of course I look, I can't help it......so yeah, of course you're fucking sexually attractive. I definitely would. But I won't! Okay! Does that answer your question?" 

When she raised her eyes to him again, she seemed to be searching his for truth. As if trying to read anything inside his head that he might be holding back. Her cheeks flushed at the blatant honesty of his reply. 

"You've never even told me how old you are." 

"You never asked. Is it important?" 

"Not at all. Not to me. I'm 36. I'm not so very much younger than you." 

"I'm fifty Darl. And you're way out of my fucking league!" 

She scoffed with mild annoyance. 

"That's complete nonsense, Malc." 

Lifting her clasped hand he raised it to his lips and kissed it. Such a courtly gesture. 

"Trust me Liv. You are sexually attractive. Okay?" 

She chanced a little smile. 

"Thank you for being honest. Can I now be honest with you?" 

Her companion nodded warily, wondering what the fuck was coming next. 

"Go on."

"Wendy said your wife had affairs for the same reason."

Throwing back his head, Malcolm laughed out loud, an explosion of angry derision. 

"And she'd know would she? She was there during my marriage and when it hit the fan? She was in our bedroom was she? Taking notes presumably. For fucks sake!" 

To his dismay, Liv suddenly looked scared. A slight widening of her eyes and a pulling away from his side.  
Immediately he calmed his voice. Softening it. Closing his lids, tilting his head back, letting a puff of air escape through his mouth. Taking five. Cooling down. 

"Look Liv. I'm under no illusions here okay! I'm no one's fucking heartthrob. Was never gonna be.  
Let's face it, George Clooney isn't gonna be worried anytime soon. Presumably my missus fancied me when we met, courted, got married. She slept with other men because she used them to climb the ladder, and because she enjoyed it. She was never a one man woman, she liked to keep her options open. She'd fuck some random guy she met then come home and fuck me! She had a string of them hanging on her knicker elastic. I was just the poor sap who was her husband. That's the truth. I don't give a fuck what Wendy Draper said, and nor should you." 

"I'm sorry Malcolm." Now a tear came, followed by others. "I didn't mean to make you angry." 

He seemed exasperated, close to tears himself. He took her other hand, clutching both within the power of his own. Squeezing them. 

"I'm not angry with you, love!" He sighed. " I'm angry that someone's venomous words can hurt you so much. Be taken to heart. Thought about, pondered over. Worried to death. It doesn't matter to me, I don't give a fuck if anyone finds me attractive or not, it's all bollocks anyway....." 

".....but I think you are." 

He almost missed the words in his anguish and strenuous effort to try to make her feel better about herself. 

"What?" He stopped short, his eyebrows furrowed as he regarded her seriously. 

"You're an attractive man. I sometimes think you try purposely not to be. To repel people. But you are. There's so much I like about you." 

The reaction she received couldn't have been more abrupt than if she'd slapped his face. 

Dropping her hands, shooting his papers onto the floor as he leapt up. 

Standing by the mantelpiece with his back to her. 

Hands raking his hair in that way he did when thoroughly perplexed. 

"For fucks sake. This is messing with my fucking head. Why did we have to start this conversation?"

Crossing the room she stood behind him. Her expression one of mixed emotions. Resting one hand on his shoulder. 

"Why is it so terrible? Why can't you handle the fact that I might actually fancy you? You're a nice man Malcolm. You are attractive both inside and out. To me at any rate. I like your eyes. I like your hair. The way your nose crinkles when you smile. And your lanky frame. I also love that you make me laugh, that you're such good company, and you're gentle and I feel at ease with you. Surely those are good things?" 

"I'm not saying they're not good things. Christ Liv! I've got feelings, a heart, you know....I'm not quite dead from the neck down! I have....appetites....of course I do. I'm a pretty normal guy, I like to think, how could I not be attracted to you? But it's not an issue. We're friends, that's what's so good. I wouldn't want to spoil it or lose it. I love it." 

"I love it too." 

She turned him to face her. A gentle smile on her face. She looked so lovely at that moment that he had the sudden urge to kiss her. 

This was a new one! 

He couldn't look away. Her quiet voice reached him again and it was like liquor. Rich and warm as any fine malt whiskey that he'd ever savoured in the past.  
Coursing through his veins. Spreading along his limbs and down his torso. 

It was as if he'd partaken. Except he knew he hadn't. Drunk on sensation alone. 

Liv spoke again. 

"I feel lucky every time I see you. That I have you as a friend. I love you." 

She saw him swallow. His Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as if he were being slowly strangled.

"Yes." She reiterated, as if it became clear to her only at that moment. "You're my friend and I love you." 

Her words tore at him. He was quick to refute them. 

"Not _IN_ love though. You love me but you're not _IN_ love with me? There's a difference. As for attraction! How can you even think of me like that? I'm fourteen years your senior, I'm grey, I'm unfit and I'm a fucking husk. A reformed alcoholic. A cunt. On a daily basis I do and say things that are not very nice....you've said so yourself. You're not attracted to me that way! I don't believe it." 

He tried to pull away. Not look at her. Because inside he could feel a turmoil of wild emotion which he fought to control.  
Her hands stilled his movement with the softest of touches. Small fingers stroking down the bare skin of his arms. Making goosebumps appear on his flesh. 

"We do not choose whom we love Malcolm." 

A choking sound left him, and his hand flew over his mouth to cover it. Tears sprung into his eyes as if they'd been wrung from him.

He could see the concern on her face, see that she was desperate to comfort him. Her own eyes moist, the hands which stayed him, trembling. 

Oh and he SO wanted to kiss her. So, so much. Just to enfold her, draw her closer and go for it! 

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" He repeated under his breath. Staggering slightly, shaking his head. "Don't do this Malcolm. Don't fucking want this!" 

Liv didn't speak again, instead she took another step closer, into his personal space. 

Threading her arms around his waist, she laid her cheek against his chest. She was weeping softly, and the sound was so gut wrenching that he could do nothing but sob himself.  
Hugging her tightly into his body. Keeping her there with the flat of his palms against her back. 

"Don't cry. Please. It's ok." Advice he tried to extol but couldn't silence in himself. 

The words fell from her like tumbling pebbles in a fast flowing stream. 

"I'm so stupid, and I'm so sorry. Look how I've upset you. If I wasn't so vain and pathetic I'd have never said a word. But she made me feel like shit. Her and my ex both. Always he spoils everything! I tried but I couldn't push it out of my head." 

A soothing hand was stroking her hair. Fingers combing down through it slowly. The sensation made her shudder. 

"Oh love! You're not stupid. You're just human! Christ Almighty! It's not nice to know that you've been rejected in that way. God! I know that as well as anyone. One of your best character traits is your bald honesty. And we promised, didn't we? To be honest with each other. To keep that truth. To have said nothing would have meant denying the way you were feeling. It's just that it's stirred up my own emotions that's all. Stuff I've pushed down. Things I've not said or allowed myself to feel for a very long time, and it's painful Liv. It's so fucking painful." 

His head had drooped until it rested on hers. Breathing ragged. 

She could feel the hurt surging through him, it's intensity derived from their circumstances, feeding off their mood and the gathering strength of their relationship.  
It was almost a transference, a shared sentiment. 

Lifting her own head she looked into his eyes. She saw a deep longing. His bottom lip was trembling. 

Inches apart. 

So close that she could feel his thin breath against her own mouth. 

_"Malcolm?"_ She whispered, unsure, yet leaning closer.

He could physically eat the word she was so near. Her response to him felt so good that he just wanted more. 

Only half an inch, that was all he needed to do to move forward to bring their lips together. 

A quarter.....

An eighth.....

His lids lowered, her last glimpse being his long lashes as they brushed his cheek, that final moment before his mouth closed over hers and she felt an unfamiliar lurch travel right through her body.  
A thrill, a surge of adrenaline which was borne of fear, of joy and everything else all rolled into one. 

It was like an electric pulse passing through her chest, as her heart pumped harder to compensate for the light headedness she felt. 

Lips so soft. 

The tenderest of touches. 

His nose was pressed into her cheek. Warm little puffs of air through his nostrils. She could feel his stubble against her own chin, a slight roughness. The rustle of his clothing as he exhaled. His belt buckle digging into her stomach. Everything in sharp focus.  
The sensation that she was falling. Gently. Like a drifting snowflake. Melting against the warmth of him. 

How many times had she dreamed of being kissed like this? 

It had never happened. 

Until now. 

Unlike anything she'd ever experienced. 

The kiss of someone who wasn't forcing her, who felt passion not lust. Not demanding from her using his superior height and power, her head not firmly held in place at the neck by a strong gripping hand, as she struggled to try to free herself. 

An overwhelming sense of oneness. 

Being joined to a man by this small physical connection which was wholly and completely wanted by both parties. 

And it continued. 

He didn't strengthen it, nor turn it feral. He just kept up the sweetest, softest bond between them, easing off every so often, sucking at her lower lip very gently before beginning again.  
A little sound like a whimper came from her and he took it as a sign to draw her a tad closer in his arms but retained the same firmness of touch to their mouths. 

The air around them crackled with the exhilaration. 

Soaring skywards like a lark. 

In an instant he had swept clean the dusty corners of her heart. 

The beat of it now filled with a different and new intensity. 

It probably lasted no more than a minute or so, but it felt like hours. 

When he pulled back, his lips glistened, wet with saliva, either hers or his own.  
Pink and full they looked, as plump and rosy as hers now were. 

There were still tears on his cheek bones and in his eyes, although he wasn't crying. 

As his arms loosened their hold she regained her own balance, coming down from her toes where she'd raised herself up to meet him. One palm resting in the centre of his chest against his breast bone to steady herself. His hands came up to cup her face. The thumbs brushing across her skin lightly, wiping the remaining tracks of her own dried tears. 

Their eyes locked on each other. Flitting back and forth for looking for reassurance. 

Searching for truth. 

Had this just happened?

Was it real? 

As sometimes happens in times of trauma, sorrow or great stress, like at a funeral perhaps, there was an urge for inappropriate mirth. Bubbling up. 

Liv gave a nervous laugh. 

Her fingertips touching her mouth where his lips had so recently been. 

She was out of breath as if she'd been running, flushed in the face, yet her hands were cold. 

Malcolm's features were frozen as if struck over the head with a mallet. 

Mind blown. 

Staring down at her with his mouth agape. 

"What did we just do?" He gasped, when eventually he found his speech again. 

"I think, if I'm not much mistaken, we just snogged each other senseless." She replied, her voice still unreliable. 

"Yeah. I thought that was what happened." 

He seemed confused, disorientated, as if recovering from that hammer blow. 

Holding his head in both hands as if it hurt he began murmuring under his breath. 

"Oh fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

In spite of her wildly beating heart she remained calm. 

Reaching up she placed a finger over his lips to silence him, then rested the palm of her hand against his cheek. 

"Stop! Malcolm......don't. It's alright!" 

His eyes closed, controlling his breathing. Leaning into the touch as if it anchored him. Keeping it real. 

After a few moments he dared to open them again and she was smiling up at him. 

"You're okay with it?" He hardly dared ask. "It hasn't ruined everything?" 

By way of a reply, she wound her arms around his neck. Drawing him down towards her slightly.  
Hugging him tight. 

"It was wonderful, Malcolm." Her words were spoken into the soft skin of his neck, just below his left ear. 

Nothing would ever erase the memory of that first kiss. 

It would remain a beacon of light for years to come. Referred to between them at times of both happiness and strife. 

The defining moment. 

Lowering themselves onto the sofa side by side, just staring at each other. Neither really knowing quite what to say. 

"I think I've answered your earlier question good and proper anyway." He tried a nervous smile. Hoping humour was the right response to this situation. 

"I think you have." She agreed. 

"We may have answered one or two other questions too." 

"Quite possibly." She nodded. 

"Why today? Why now? What changed?" These were all questions to which there was no adequate response. 

"Does it matter Malcolm? As long as it's what we both want. As long as we are comfortable moving to a different stage. A different kind of relationship?" 

Her companion shook his head. 

"Not so different." He replied. "We are still friends I hope. That hasn't changed." 

"True. But I think friends who kiss like we just did, amounts to a little more than just friends. Don't you?" 

Malcolm smiled. 

"Yeah. I guess." He admitted. "What now though?" 

"What now?" Her brow furrowed. "Well! We see. We take our time. We don't get carried away. Carry on learning, living, growing. There's no deadline. No pressure, and no agenda. What else can we do?" 

Malcolm rubbed at his forehead distractedly. 

"Fuck, Liv! All the things we said. All the boundaries we set. Everything we were both so sure we didn't want. Did we get it wrong? Did we really secretly want those things all along? I feel like we lied to ourselves and to each other. I'm scared we'll lose what we had." 

She smiled fondly at him. 

"Not necessarily. What was true when we met, all those months ago, is no longer the case now. When you saw that woman on a stool at the party, gazing into her empty glass....that girl wasn't looking for love. She wasn't looking for much at all. When I found you seated on the Embankment in need of a hand to hold, you weren't out to secure a partner, or even a friend. You just needed help. How can we possibly predict the future? We can tell ourselves all manner of things, they're not lies, but coping strategies. This hasn't happened overnight Malcolm. It's happened gradually over a period of weeks and weeks. Starting out as we did was the first step. It may have been the only step we ever took, but it was a good grounding for any further relationship, should it develop. Perhaps now we've just reached a point where we are ready to move onwards and upwards. Maybe it's just as simple as that." 

"Perhaps we shouldn't analyse it too much. Perhaps we should just accept it and go forwards." 

Reaching for him, she dropped a peck on his cheek. 

"I think that's exactly what we should do. In the meantime.....that was one hell of a kiss Malcolm Tucker. If I'd known you could kiss like that maybe I wouldn't have waited so long to try it!" 

Malcolm blushed scarlet.

"I'm sure you've been kissed plenty of times before!" 

"Yes." She responded, wistfully. "But never like that."


	20. Chapter Twenty.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day. Malcolm and Liv go to the park.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is primarily one to show development. The two are slowly becoming closer, allowing each other in. Trusting. It's a big step.

CHAPTER TWENTY. 

_“It is an absolute human certainty that no one can know his own beauty or perceive a sense of his own worth until it has been reflected back to him in the mirror of another loving, caring human being.”_  
― John Joseph Powell, The Secret of Staying in Love

 

...........

 

On Sunday Liv felt like it was the morning after the night before. As if she'd been to a wild party. 

After Malcolm left her she felt exhausted, drained by her own emotions. 

Her head hit the pillow and she was gone. 

God! Being kissed was so tiring! 

In contrast Malcolm hadn't slept a wink. 

His head ached almost as badly as any hangover he'd ever experienced. Which figured, since the evening before he'd felt drunk anyway. 

A strong cup of black coffee kicked in slowly and he reached for his phone with bleary eyes. 

There was a text from Olivia. 

_"Stop mulling it over and over in your mind. Nothing is spoilt. Nothing is lost. Even if we never kiss again we are still friends. But we will, because it was lovely. You are lovely. It wouldn't have happened if we hadn't both wanted it to. Now cease and desist from beating yourself up over it! Xx"_

He read it twice. 

Fucking hell! 

Had she actually been inside the lumber room that was his skull? 

In amongst the cobwebs, the mouse droppings and the trunk full of memories? 

Reading his very thoughts? 

It was uncanny.

He typed a reply. 

A disjointed garble. 

_"You're a fucking witch and you scare me! Did you sleep? Cos I fucking didn't! Am I seeing you today?_  
_The next four days are going to be a total wank fest for the election. Everyone tugging off everyone else. There'll be jizz all over the place as they countdown to polling day. I'm not going to have a free moment. I need to see you. Can you come over? Xx"_

Read what he'd written. 

Head in his hands. 

How had he come from casual acquaintance, an on and off friendship to _'I need to see you'?_

Fuck knew! 

But it was what always happened. 

Every fucking time. 

Meeting someone, being drawn in. Falling head over heels. 

In the past few years when he realised he was in too deep he'd run a mile. Break it off and slink back into his hole.  
Licking his wounds. 

Should he do that this time? Right now? Before it was too late? 

Fuck! It was already too late. 

He fucking loved her. 

He knew it as surely as he knew the sun would rise. 

Christ! How had he allowed this to happen again? Creeping up on him unawares. 

With a sigh he resigned himself. Pressed 'send'. 

Her response pinged back in the few seconds it took her to read and then formulate an answer. 

_"Alright. I'll come over when I've showered. But we are not going to mope about your place looking at each other with terrified expressions. We'll get out of the city. Take the tube to Richmond or Kew, or somewhere. Anywhere. It's a sunny day. We'll walk, find a coffee place, commune with nature, I don't care, but we are NOT going to ruin our relationship by being pathetic. We are adults Malcolm. We kissed! Let's not get ahead of ourselves here. Okay?"_

The smile spread slowly across his face as his eyes flicked over his screen. 

They'd be alright. They would. 

Olivia Williams was one in a million. 

Sensible. Practical. More to the point she had sufficient foresight to realise that this was hard for him. That he fell so easily and completely. 

Liv understood. She 'got him'.

She would keep the reins on. Not gallop until she'd learned to canter. 

Thank god for her! 

oOo

They ended up at Kew Gardens. 

The sky was like a painting. So blue that it hurt the eyes. Barely a cloud to be seen. 

It was the kind of May day where it was summer in the sunshine and winter in the shade. 

All the flower beds were being planted up with summer bedding already. The last of the tulips fading. 

Everywhere was alive with the promise of warm weather yet to come. Fresh new leaves appearing on all the huge trees. 

Ancient oaks and beeches. Horse Chestnut in flower, both white and pink. On the lakes the ducks were dabbling. Up tails! Then righting themselves, bobbing like corks. The water rolling off their backs like oil on the surface.  
Noisy mallards and some stately mute swans, who paddled over with their large black feet hoping for bread. 

Malcolm wasn't really much of an outdoor person. Communing with nature was something he could easily leave. 

Not today. 

Today the sun was golden and it shone from the iridescent bird's feathers like molten turquoise.  
The squirrels who searched industriously for their cache of acorns delighted him. Their fluffy tails poised in the air over their heads as they sat back, holding their prize between front claws.  
The air was full of the scent of pollen, such a twittering and joyful burgeoning that it was difficult even for him, an inveterate city dweller, not to be entranced. 

Finding an empty picnic table near the cafeteria area they sat sideways, one leg either side of the plank seat, facing each other, with a bucket sized cappuccino and a piece of sponge cake beside them, watching the children playing on the swings and slide in the adjacent soft play area. 

Knees touching. Close. 

Malcolm's eyes narrowed as he saw a tiny kiddie running full pelt, then tripping over a dust particle at the last moment, sprawling headlong.  
He winced.  
Two sore knees. A hail of tears. An anguish parent hurrying to rescue the squalling youngster.

Liv placed her hands on his thighs. Leaning into him. 

"You okay?" She asked.

His own hands came up to cover hers, squeezing slightly. 

"Yeah. I'm glad we did this. Rather than staying in. It's like the last free air I'll breathe this week. It was what I needed. Thank you." 

She smiled. Squinting her eyes against the bright sun. He felt her give a sigh. 

"The concept of 'normal life' is a fallacy did you know that?" She murmured quietly. 

Malcolm had zoned out again, observing the passers by without really seeing them. 

"Hmmm?" He rumbled deep in his throat. 

"'Normal life'." She repeated. "There's no such thing." 

"I sure as hell never found it." He responded distractedly. 

"There's just 'life'." Bending at the waist she leaned forward. Snuggling into him, burying her face into the soft woollen material of his reefer jacket (or 'pea coat' as it was perhaps more fashionably labelled). "We spend half our lives chasing something that doesn't exist." 

At the profound statement Malcolm pulled away from her so that he could look into her face. 

"That's very philosophical Liv." 

Christ! Those eyes! He could dive right in and never resurface! 

That was the thought that popped into his head as he regarded her at that moment. 

"We strive for the unobtainable." She muttered, her head moving slightly towards him. "Always seeking nirvana. Never satisfied. Never seeing that we already have all we need, right in front of us." 

He dipped forward at the neck just as she did. 

Their lips met. 

It was just the same reaction as the night before. Perhaps even more statically charged. 

Sparks flying. 

The same fire. The same heat and passionate intensity. 

Liv closed her eyes and didn't think any more. Giving in. Surrendering to the sensation of the entire park melting away around her.  
The voices becoming muffled, fading, the birdsong muted. A bubble in which she and Malcolm were the only occupants. 

Her hand was at his collar, fingertips pressing the nape of his neck, before she slid them upwards and into his hair. Its softness surprised her. She'd always thought of it as steel wool. The type of material used to make pan scourers. But it was like baby hair, and it felt wonderful. 

She could feel his arms gathering her closer. Sliding around behind her as if she were being wrapped in a blanket.  
A tight embrace from which she didn't want to be freed.  
Because being held in this way made her feel safe.  
It was not something she'd ever been used to. 

Malcolm didn't know, couldn't contemplate, the depths to which she'd been drawn in the past, she'd only hinted to him of the nature of her intimate relationship with her ex.  
He had no idea of the struggles and suffering she'd endured, and continued to endure in her mind. 

She had never known any different. Thought that all relationships were like her own. It took a long time for her to realise. To understand. To see that it was wrong. 

Here however, was a man who knew how a woman should be treated. 

She could see that now. The stark difference. 

It stirred her emotions and made her almost want to shout aloud. 

_'THIS! This is what you do! This is how it's supposed to feel!'_

The wild beating of her heart was meant to be excitement, not fear. 

Momentarily, she broke free of his mouth, pulling back, seeing his eyes open languidly, marvelling at the way his pupils were dark and widely dilated like two ink blots in the centre of each pale iris.  
How utterly lost he seemed.  
Breathing hard. Flushed. No longer capable of rational thought. 

"I love you Malcolm." 

Her voice was small and far away. 

As if the sound around them was suddenly switched back on, the noises returned. Bass and treble. 

Children's laughter and high pitched shouts. Chattering, calling parents. A blackbird giving song. The swish of a rollerblader as he swept passed. Two barking dogs. 

All real again. 

Back in the present. 

Malcolm had the impression he'd been spinning. He was dizzy. 

Her face swimming before him. 

Tears pricked and tumbled before he'd even given thought to them. 

"I love you too." 

Then back in he went. Closing the gap that had opened momentarily between them. 

Fastening himself to her like glue. Unable to be torn apart. 

Kissing her deeply and long. Until he felt he'd pass out for want of breath. 

Fingers tangled in her silky hair. Almost cradling the back of her head, gently encouraging her to stay with him. 

She needed no such encouragement. 

If she never had any more from him other than being kissed like this, she would die happy. 

Liv burned like straw.  
There was an unspecified longing deep within the core of her. It began in her chest, spreading to the pit of her stomach and settled between her legs. 

A small sound mewling sound escaped her unbidden. 

Pressed so close now, she could feel every button on his coat. His soft cashmere scarf. The tip of his nose tucked into the side of her own.  
Their legs, astride the bench, touching at the thigh. Knees hard against each other. 

To Malcolm it was as if her upper body was moulded against him. That she was not solid flesh at all, but soft and pliable, almost liquid.  
The shape of her was perfect for his body. They seemed to slot effortlessly together.  
Becoming one entity. 

There was a pain beneath his rib cage. It grew and radiated as he continued kissing her. When it reached his groin he gave a groan and pulled away quickly.  
Sucking in air. One hand across his mouth. Afraid to make eye contact. 

She was not a fool. 

Of course she realised the natural way his body had reacted. Hers had done the same, except that not possessing the same anatomy as a male, it was not so outwardly obvious. 

She could do one of two things.....

Separate herself from him and ignore it, pretending she didn't know and carrying on as if nothing had happened, until he was back in control. 

Or the other thing......

She did the other thing. 

Swinging her leg over the plank on which they were seated, she tapped his thigh to make him do the same.  
Now they were side by side instead of astride the bench. 

Rising briefly, she sat herself on his lap. Both legs across his, sideways on.  
Her arms around his neck. 

He was now cradling her as if she were a child. But effectively hiding his trouser area. Shielding him from potential embarrassment.  
Briefly she kissed him again. Settling herself so he had room to calm himself yet she could remain close. 

Clasping his hands together around her middle, interlocking his fingers he held her to him. 

Two more little pecks, then their foreheads coming to rest together. 

Recovering. Breathing again. Letting their pounding hearts slow, and their arousal fade. 

"Sorry." He apologised, shamefaced.

"What for?" 

"You know what for." 

She cuddled into him again. 

"Shock! Horror!" She giggled. "Malcolm Tucker is human too. Who'd a thunk?"

"Oh stop it!" He squirmed. "Unhand me woman!" 

Their laughter mingled and rippled together, and she kissed him again on the tip of his nose. 

Just because she could. 

oOo

Starving hungry. 

Side by side in Malcolm's narrow kitchen the two made cheese on toast. 

"This next few days will be manic." He remarked as he hunted for the Worcester sauce. "Can't wait for it to be over." 

"By Friday morning you'll know where you stand." She replied, grating the cheddar. 

"By Friday morning I'll be out of a fucking job." 

Sticking the bread slices under the grill he turned to filled the kettle. 

"Keep an eye on that bread, love." He said, finding the cups and going to the fridge for the milk. 

Liv commenced peering under the grill at regular intervals so that the toast didn't burn. 

"Surely not." 

"It'll be all she wrote. Trust me." He said, stirring the teabag thoughtfully. 

Liv removed the browned slices and flipped them over to the uncooked side ready for their cheesy topping. 

"They'll need you every bit as much in Opposition....if you do lose....as they do in Government." 

"Meh. Maybe. It'll be curtains for Tom certainly. They'll be looking for a new leader. I dunno if I want to do it any more Liv. I'm sick of being fucked up the arse. I'd like a nice little 9 to 5 where I get a lunch break." 

Liv chuckled. 

"You'd be bored in two hours." 

Their snack was ready. 

Malcolm seemed suddenly subdued. 

"I won't see you in the week. Not till it's over. I won't be nice to be around." 

"What will you do on Thursday night?" 

Taking their repast, they moved through to the living room together. Seating themselves on Malcolm's huge leather couch.  
Cups on the coffee table in front of them, plates on their knees. 

"Dunno. Usually we are all together at party headquarters. Watching the results come in. But I don't think I want to put myself through that." 

"They'll expect you to be there surely?" 

Malcolm munched noisily. Speaking with his mouth half full. 

"I don't give a fuck what they expect. I just don't think I can sit there all night with that bunch of twats watching my life go down the fucking toilet." 

"So you'll be here by yourself then?" 

"Probably." 

"You want me to come and sit with you? Keep you company?" 

"No! Definitely not. I'll be the shittest company ever. I'd rather be on my own." 

"Okay. But, Malcolm.....if you do want to, you can call me anytime. Alright? I'll come over." 

The little smile he gave her was tainted with melancholy. 

"Will do." He said quietly. 

He had toast crumbs on his lip and she reached over to wipe them off with her thumb. 

She heard him sigh. 

"I feel weird." He admitted with a puff on the exhale. 

"In what way?" She took his hand gently and held it between her own. Much as she had when she'd discovered him on the Embankment the day he was sacked. 

"I dunno. Like there's some fucking nuclear thing going on inside me and it's gonna blow." 

"You're overwrought. You probably just need to sleep." 

"Nah. It's more than that. I'm het up. You know? On the brink of something huge, and I've not got a fucking clue how to stop it." 

"Then maybe it's better not to. It's perhaps best to let whatever it is come out. A great deal has happened this weekend, things neither of us were prepared for. It's caught us both unawares. It's unsettling Malcolm. Strange even." 

"Yeah. Yeah, that's probably it. Bit of a shock right?" 

"You could say that!" Her smile was meltingly warm. 

"Then there was earlier. That was a bit of a surprise too. Fucking long time since that's happened! There's life in the old dog yet! Sorry. That sounded worse than I meant it to." 

"It's no big deal Malc. In a way your reaction made me feel good. It means that I caused it, and I've not had that effect on a guy for a very long time either, if ever. I've never taken the lead before. I was always told it wasn't my place to." 

"What the fuck?" 

"There's an awful lot you don't know Malcolm, and now is not the time to tell it. But let's just say, when my ex was aroused, he came and found me. Not the other way around. Ever. I just had to be ready for when he was. That's the way it worked." 

"For fucks sake Liv. Why did you stick it?" 

"I thought that was how it was meant to be. Simple as that. I was 17 when we met, remember? I had no relationship or sexual experience at all." 

"Your ex was a total cunt." 

The memories were too painful. Now they began flooding back. 

Olivia rose, gathering her plate and cup. 

"I must go Malcolm. It's late and I've got work tomorrow. It's been such a lovely weekend. I don't think I'll ever forget it. Not as long as I live. So thank you. Thank you so much." 

Leaning over, she kissed him on the cheek. 

He stood. Removing the crockery from her hands and replacing them on the table. 

Taking her arms he placed them around him, then encircled her tightly with his own. 

"That's not a proper goodbye." He growled. 

Bending his head he kissed her cheeks in turn, then sought her mouth, first a little peck on the lips, then another, then touching his lips to hers gently over and over until she capitulated, sinking into his embrace. 

This kiss was different from the previous two. This was more needy and insistent. The feel of his tongue against her teeth, silently begging her to grant him access. Hot and wet and utterly thrilling. 

For some seconds she allowed the plunder, the blood pulsing like lava in her veins. 

"Malcolm." She whispered, pulling away from him. "Please. No more. I have to go." 

The release was instant. His mouth and chin were wet. He looked dazed. With love? Lust? She wasn't sure.  
But his eyes were fierce and his rapid breaths made his nostrils flair. 

"Sorry." He murmured. "It's all too much. Isn't it?" 

"Just a little." She admitted. "It's been an emotional day." 

"Yeah." He released her, taking hold of her hands. "I'll get your jacket. See you out." 

Her smile reassured him. 

"Text me anytime you want to Malc. If you don't, that's fine. Thursday will be here before we know it. And one way or another, whatever the result, it'll be over. Then we'll see. No matter what happens I'm here for you. Okay?" 

Both hands were given a firm squeeze. 

"I don't know how you found me, or I found you. But I'm awfully glad we did." He responded. 

She blew him a kiss as she walked down the path. 

Malcolm felt as if he just might possibly explode.


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meltdown......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this was always going to happen. It was just a matter of when....

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE. 

_“There are all kinds of addicts, I guess. We all have pain. And we all look for ways to make the pain go away.”_  
― Sherman Alexie, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian

 

..........

If Liv was honest with herself, she saw it coming. 

It was his emotional response to their weekend and the culmination of the stress of the whole campaign. Immediately seeking to withdraw. Shutting himself off over the next four days. He wasn't sleeping. Was tired and irritable. This in turn made him anxious. Knowing his entire working future was uncertain. 

Monday through to Wednesday he was ensconced at No 10 with the party faithful and wasn't expected to visit DoSaC, so she had no opportunity to see him personally to gauge his mood. 

She texted him but received only cursory replies, saying he was okay, but hectically busy, or there was no response at all. 

'Let him go his way.' She thought. 'Give him space.' 

'Perhaps he needs to get it all straight in his head.' 

'He's under so much pressure.' 

Right on all counts. Right to be concerned too. 

Had he quietly planned it? She could never be sure, and Malcolm later told her he didn't know either. Subconsciously maybe he did. 

The fact that he'd chosen, on the previous Sunday, not to be with everyone else at party headquarters on election day after the polls closed.....it should have rung alarm bells. 

In the hours before dawn it became clear the election was lost. As result after result came through and the narrowness of the margins were plain to see. So many seats where they just missed out. 

The two other parties were soon to be frantically closeted in talks to try to form a coalition.  
As Malcolm predicted, Tom was fucked and so, by association, were they all. 

It was not until later that same morning, when Liv was dressing for work that the phone call came.

From a number she didn't recognise. 

_"Hello?"_

_"Hello, Olivia? This is Sam Cassidy. You've probably heard of me? I'm Malcolm's PA. Please forgive me for calling but I got your number from Malcolm's address book in his desk. Is he with you by any chance?"_

Icy fingers gripped Liv's heart. 

_"Oh hi there! No, Sam. He's not here. I've barely had any contact with him since Sunday."_

A few seconds of yawning silence on the other end of the line. 

Then....

 _"Oh! Christ! Um....."_

More silence, then her voice seemed to change, becoming more urgent. 

_"Okay. Well, I'm officially worried then. No one's seen him since Thursday afternoon, he's not turned up here this morning, and he's not answering his phone."_

_"Shit!"_ Liv was thrown into a complete panic. 

What the fuck was he playing at? Why would he not answer his calls? He'd know that all sorts of people would be trying to contact him. 

_"Hold on a sec....I'll try him again now."_

Moving across the living room, she reached for her landline. Dialling Malcolm's private number with a trembling hand. 

It rang and rang. Then switched to voice mail. His work mobile did the same. 

_"It's just ringing and ringing. I think I'll go to his house Sam. Make sure he's okay. Maybe he's just switched his phones off and gone to bed or something."_

Even as she said the words, she knew it wasn't the case. 

Malcolm wouldn't do that. 

_"I'll meet you there if that's okay?"_ Sam replied. _"I need to know he's alright too."_

_"Thanks Sam. See you shortly."_

Liv didn't remember struggling into her clothes and running down to the tube station. She didn't remember the ride, nor the sprint from the station to Malcolm's house.  
A total blur. 

Reaching it she could see that the curtains in the bay window were still drawn. 

Knocking and ringing the doorbell elicited no response. Bending down, she tried to peer through the letterbox.  
All she could see was the hallway, and as far as the door through to the living room.  
There was no sign of Malcolm, but she thought she could hear voices. 

She decided to try the back entrance. 

The back gate was locked but she managed to put her small hand through the gap between it and the fence and slide the bolt across. 

The patio door blinds were also closed.

Hoping against hope, she tried the handle. To her immense relief it was not fastened, only clicked shut. 

Sliding it aside, she entered the living room. 

Calling out as she did so. 

"Malcolm?" 

"Malcolm? It's Liv. You there?" 

All seemed tranquil. 

It soon became obvious that the voices she'd heard were from the television. It was tuned to the news channel and was playing away quietly to itself. 

Subdued table lamps still burned.

Scanning the dim room before her, it did not look particularly disturbed, the cushions were squashed flat, piled at one end of the couch, a dent where a head had lain, still visible. 

There were other signs that the room had been recently well used. A Domino's pizza box lay open on the coffee table, only two triangles were eaten from it. The rest lay abandoned and congealed in it's cardboard. Two coffee cups, one still containing dregs, the other on its side, a pool and a dribble of dried up remains had trickled from it, just missing the rug below. 

It was then she noticed the bottles. 

On the floor beside the sofa. There were three. 

All empty. 

"Oh fuck!" She breathed. 

"Malcolm? _MALCOLM!_ Where are you?" 

Her urgency to discover him increased. She was suddenly frightened. 

Through to the darkened kitchen, picking her way slowly, trying to take everything in, almost afraid of what she might find. 

It didn't look good. 

His private and business phones lay on the worktop. Almost out of battery. Many messages and voicemails on both. 

More bottles. A cork screw. The wine rack on the wall had only two slots still filled. 

Then, as she took another step, something crunched underfoot. 

Reaching to her side, she flicked on the light switch. 

Carnage. 

Looking down she could see shards of glass everywhere. The remains of a large long stemmed wine glass to be exact. 

Her eyes took in the scenario, widening as she looked around her feet. 

It resembled a murder scene from a crime drama. 

Dark red smears which on closer examination she could see were footprints. 

It wasn't wine. 

In horror she realised it was actually blood, and as she scanned the tiles, she could see more spots. Forming a trail. 

Like Hansel and Gretl with the breadcrumbs in the wood, only so much more macabre. 

They headed off along the hallway and up the stairs. 

"Oh Christ!....... _MALCOLM!_ " 

She vaulted the stairs, calling all the time. 

"Malcolm? Answer me! Where are you?" 

'Please, let him be alright.' She hissed under her breath. By now she was shaking violently. 

The trail ended at the bathroom, the door of which was partly closed. 

She hardly dare push it open. As she did however, the wood hit an obstacle. Holding her breath she peered in. His socked feet. 

He lay stretched out on the floor. 

One bloodied hand. 

Dressed in only a T Shirt and underpants. The rest of his besmirched clothes laying more or less in the order he'd stripped them off. 

Everywhere was plastered with vomit. 

It was on his face and down his front. All over the bathroom floor tiles. Handprints in both it and blood on the walls, the sink and the taps. It was in the toilet pan, around it, down it and over it.

The stench was almost unbearable. 

"MALCOLM! Oh god!" 

He stank of alcohol. Reeked of it, like a brewery. 

A sweet sickly aroma which made her gag. 

Ignoring it, swallowing down the urge, she knelt at his side, first feeling for a pulse.  
There it was, a little feeble but very much there. 

Liv hardly knew where to start. 

He was barely conscious. 

"Oh Malc! Malcolm." She whispered, as tears began to prick. "Wake up. Please." 

As she raised his head, cradling it, tapping his cheek, he seemed to come to. Opening his eyes. They were bleary and unfocused. The lids so heavy he could barely raise them. 

"What have you done?" Stroking back his matted hair. "Why didn't you call me?" 

He was not capable of a reply. 

As if to further shatter her nerves, the doorbell suddenly sounded, making her almost jump out of her skin. Then the chink of the letterbox being drawn up. 

"Liv? LIV! You in there?" 

It was Sam. 

Thank god! 

"Go round the back!" She yelled. "Door's open."

In seconds she could hear hurried footfalls on the stairs. 

The flustered secretary appeared in the doorway and surveyed the scene of devastation. 

"Oh holy fuck!" She cried. 

Stripping off her coat and laying down her handbag, she picked her way in through the muck. 

"What can I do?" She asked. 

Somehow she managed to suppress sobs, although Liv could see it was tough for her. 

"Stupid bloody bugger!" She muttered under her breath as she crouched at Liv's side. "I thought he'd slashed his wrists or...." 

She stopped, unable to continue. 

"Help me get him up. We'll try to get him clean. He's cut his hand badly." 

The two lassies pulled themselves together, swinging into action. Working as a team. 

With few words between them they sat the inert, almost cadaverous man up and stripped him. Wrapping a flannel round his injured palm as a temporary bandage. 

Communicating with each other quietly and efficiently primarily with little more than looks or gestures. 

When they did speak their voices were gentle. Not a shred of anger present in either woman.

"Come on sweetie. That's it. Let's get that shirt off." 

Since he was right next to the shower cubicle they hauled him inside and used the spray on him, hand held, hosing him down, rinsing and drying him between them. 

Neither commented on his nakedness, the appalling state he was in or any such thing. 

Malcolm was certainly in no position to care. 

As they worked the pair spoke to him. Telling him what they were doing or about to do. 

"Easy now Malc. Clean clothes coming. Put your bad hand through the armhole first, that's right." 

From time to time he retched. Little or nothing came up. His stomach was so sore that he groaned in pain with every heave, trying to bring his arms around to hug himself. His eyes, when he could open them were terribly bloodshot. 

Once in a fresh T shirt and underpants, at least he smelled and looked better. 

With Sam holding him beneath his armpits, Liv gripping under his knees, they manhandled him into the bedroom, he sagged in the middle, his bottom just off the floor. Hefting him up they put him to bed.  
It was so awkward as he was a dead weight. Unable to help them or himself. But they managed somehow with brute force and ignorance. 

Once he was reasonably comfortable, Liv carefully peeled back the flannel and opened his fingers to reveal his lacerated palm. 

She winced. 

The cut was deep but seemed to have only severed the flesh. 

"I'm guessing he fell." Sam said, as she steadied the hand so that Liv could administer first aid. 

"It's going to hurt Malcolm, try to stay still." She murmured, laying her other hand on his damp forehead. 

"He won't feel much." Liv pointed out. "He's well and truly anaesthetised."

"He's so hot and clammy." The PA remarked with some concern. "Do you think he's alright? Perhaps we should have called an ambulance." 

The two girls eyes met, seated as they were on the edge of the bed. 

"Perhaps when we've finished here, we should call his friend Pat." Liv suggested. 

"Good idea." Her new friend returned her attention to her boss's hand. "I've got him.....you ready?" 

Liv nodded. 

Using some eyebrow tweezers which Sam kept in her handbag, Liv began by removing several slivers of glass. 

Cleaned, disinfected and carefully dressed he lay beneath the covers with the bandaged appendage laid across his chest. 

Sleeping like a baby. 

"He's out of it." Sam stood beside the bed, looking down. "Pat said he'd come over, but I told him you were staying with him."

She placed a bowl beside him within reach, since after only a few tiny sips of water, he had threatened to vomit again. 

"I'm not leaving here. Don't you worry!" Liv replied adamantly. 

Garbled words came from their patient as he slumbered which made no sense. He didn't even know they were there, let alone who they were. 

Still sweating profusely as if he had a fever. 

All they were advised to do by Pat was to let him sleep it off. 

"He's resting easy now at least." His faithful secretary looked sad. 

"Thank you so much Sam, for coming over so quickly. I don't know what I'd have done without you." 

Sam smiled. 

" _He'll_ not thank me when he knows." She grimaced. "Especially if he finds out I helped wash and dress him. He'll be mortified. Best we don't mention it I think."

oOo

Together, after cleaning up both the bathroom and the downstairs, throwing laundry in the washing machine, the glass swept up and floor hoovered, disgusting pizza disposed of and all other detritus binned or removed, the two women in Malcolm's life sat at the table in his front study room sharing biscuits and a pot of tea. 

"This won't put you off will it?" Sam asked suddenly, as if voicing her thoughts out loud. "I know it looks bad but it's never happened before. Just so you know. Not since he decided to get help. He's been so brilliant. Three years now. He's never once fallen off the wagon. I'm sure, when he remembers how this felt, he'll never do it again." 

"No. It won't put me off." Liv gave a reassuring smile. "I'm stronger than I seem. You stand up for him like he's your brother, or your closest friend. It's a lovely sentiment." 

Placing her fingers around her cup, the young secretary shrugged her shoulders. 

"He deserves it. He's been through so much. Fought so bravely. Alone too, a lot of the time. He works so fucking hard, all the hours God sends. Constantly striving, but I don't think he really knows why any more. He always stood up for the underdog. If you ask his counterpart, Stuart Pearson, or anyone else, about the people who work in his building, they wouldn't know them from Adam. But Malcolm does. He knows all the cleaners, and the behind the scenes staff. All the Civil Servants. He knows their children's names and their family situations." 

"When I first came to DoSaC, everyone told me to avoid him at all costs."

Sam scowled. 

"They all hate him because he's better than them. Saying he's sweary and rude and obnoxious. But he's only ever like that when faced with the incompetent. Like Ollie Reader. Or the ministers. They receive the rough end of his tongue because they don't do their jobs properly. And they are supposed to be serving the public. That's what makes him so mad. They take the piss. They abuse their positions. He can't stand that." 

"You've been with him a long time?" 

"Over five years."

"So you've seen it all. Did you know about the drinking?" 

"I was one of the first to notice. Hardly anyone else knows. He was clever you see. Devious even. He hid it well. A high functioning alcoholic. His work didn't really suffer, but I knew he was drinking a lot. His ex wife broke him. She was a scheming piece of work. It was the betrayal that finally finished him, and the way she wanted to take him for everything afterwards. He was so shell shocked he just gave in to all her demands. I've never seen a man taken down so completely like that before. It was shocking. The change in him. Destroyed his faith in everything good. It was horrible to witness." 

As she was speaking Sam's eyes filled with tears, she did not attempt to hide or quell them in any way. 

"You're fond of him." Liv empathised. "Love him even. Did you never want to be with him yourself?" 

She shook her head, wiping her cheeks with a tissue. 

"Couldn't. It's work you see. He'd never allow it. And if I'm honest, I don't think it would have worked. I don't really see him in that way. We were too close as a working team. To be an item as well would have been far too complicated. Perhaps there were one or two times when I thought....well.....you know.....but it wasn't to be. What about you?" 

"I love him." She admitted. "I only realised this past weekend." 

"He's in love with you. Head over heels. He can't hide it from me. I can see the change you've caused in him. He's been so different these last few weeks. It's so lovely to see. I was so happy for him. But he does have baggage, obviously. And now you've seen it first hand." 

"He told me early on. The day he was sacked. The Steve Fleming thing. I found him on the Embankment. Afraid to go home. He almost relapsed then." 

Sam nodded sagely. 

"He's come close a few times. But he's always managed to ride it somehow. He knows the triggers. Tries to avoid them. Not this time though. This time he's fearful for his whole future. Both with work, and probably with you too." 

Olivia poured more tea. Offering her companion another biscuit. 

"I have baggage of my own. Something I've yet to address with him too. I was hoping I'd cross that bridge when I came to it." 

To her surprise, Sam didn't ask her to explain, nor probe for more information, instead she waited patiently for her compatriot to continue. She didn't have to wait long. 

"My ex husband was a manipulative man. He controlled me psychologically and was sexually abusive. Malcolm doesn't know very much about it yet. I've only hinted. I find it very difficult to talk about. Partly because I feel so stupid for allowing the situation to continue for so long. It took a good friend to tell me it wasn't right and that I should get out." 

For a few seconds Sam was silent, then she spoke, and it was from the heart. 

"Olivia, it makes me so sad, and so mad to think that that happened to you. I'm so sorry. But, when he's better, I think you should sit down with Malcolm, and tell him everything. So he can understand. I think that to keep it secret from him isn't a good thing, because if you react badly to a situation one day, it will confuse him and he'll think it's because of him. I know the way he thinks. How he blames himself for everything, beats himself up. I think you should be completely honest with him. Tell him how it made you feel, how you struggle sometimes. He's a gentleman, and a gentle man. He's old fashioned. Treats women with respect. Once he knows it'll be easier for you both to move forward." 

"It's good advice, and I thank you for it. Malcolm is very lucky to have such lovely friends." 

"He has family too. Did you know?" 

"No I didn't. He's never talked about them. But I did see the children's paintings on the wall downstairs." 

"He has a niece and nephew. His sister's children. He used to see them all quite frequently. Especially when I first worked for him. But when the drinking started he cut himself off from them rather. Since he's been sober he doesn't seem to have properly rekindled the relationship. I'm not sure why. You'll have to ask him."

Sam glanced at her watch. 

"It's almost lunchtime. I'd better go. There'll be loads to do, we'll be packing up to leave No 10. It'll be manic over there. Will you be okay with him here by yourself?" 

"I'll be fine." 

"Well if you need anything, ring me. Or if you want something brought over. Pat's number is on the board in the kitchen. He knows Malcolm better than any of us, so if you're worried, call him." 

"Bless you Sam. Thank you." 

She rose, and the two women embraced spontaneously. 

"I'm so glad he's got you Olivia. I really am. He deserves someone nice. He really does." 

After she had left, Liv went back upstairs. 

Finding an armchair in the spare bedroom, she lugged it through to Malcolm's room and set it at his bedside.  
A couple of pillows and a blanket, various other things she thought she, or rather, he might require. 

Then settling herself, she prepared for a lonely vigil.


	22. Chapter Twenty-two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Through the dim watches of the night......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liv is there for Malcolm. Through thick and thin. He has good and loyal friends who stand by him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO. 

 

 _“My sleep wasn't peaceful, though. I have the sense of emerging from a world of dark, haunted places where I traveled alone.”_  
― Suzanne Collins, Mockingjay

..............

 

Malcolm lay in a nightmare of his own making. 

Tossing and turning and moving in and out of delirium. 

After such a long abstinence the alcohol poisoned his system and fried his brain. Flooding it with vivid dreams and visions. 

Beside his bed the faces of his enemies loomed, Steve Fleming, Stuart Pearson, Hugh Abbot, everyone he'd ever shown up for what they were or brought down, grotesque and frightening, cackling gargoyles who mocked and tormented him. 

Hands were laid upon him and he cried out in fear, but even as he tried to pull away the shape of the tormentor blurred and faded, and Liv was there. 

Many times that Friday afternoon and throughout the night, he fought with demons, drenched in perspiration with the effort. No power in mind or limb. Trying to sit up he found he could not do so. Helpless as a child.  
Inside his head teeming with horror and anxiety. Mumbling incoherently to those dark mannequins who waited malevolently beside his bed to punish him.  
Pulling him up, forcing him to walk. Before laying him down again. 

Yet, the cool flannel that was then laid against his fevered brow to soothe him was laid there by Liv.  
Her gentle voice reaching even the most disturbed corners of his cerebral cortex. 

The light hurt his eyes, he complained bitterly of it, so the curtains were drawn across, leaving him wandering alone in the semi dark.  
A man stood over him, a tall black shadow, menacing. 

"What do you want? He cried. "I don't know you." 

"Shhh. Rest Malcolm. Sleep. You are quite safe." 

The thin figure shimmered to his sight. Shrinking and changing to womanly shape even as he cringed away from it. 

Again it was Liv. 

Inside his head there seemed to be an engine. It's pistons clanked, it's cogs turned. The noise was deafening. To his fuddled brain it became the workings of a torture chamber, a dungeon filled with poor souls like himself, who cried and screamed, groaning in their anguish.  
He half suspected these noises came from his own lips, yet he could not reconcile himself to the rationale behind that thought. 

Instead he implored for the relentless sound to be switched off. He wanted quiet. He begged to be left in peace. 

Sometimes he fought a perceived attacker, not knowing they were there to do him good, only to realise from somewhere in the darkest recesses of his mind when he came momentarily to his senses, that they were friend not foe, then sinking down exhausted into the caring arms and allowing himself to be attended to. 

During all this time of mental turmoil, surrounded by all these phantoms with malicious intent, there would invariably be a moment when the wicked mask would be transformed.  
Taking on a different and more harmless mien.  
Wavering in front of him and finally settling on a familiar face. 

That of Olivia. 

He began to notice that it was the one thing that was a constant. 

Whoever was near him, it seemed to eventually bear a likeness to Liv. 

Thirst raged. Desperate craving thirst. 

When he called out for water it was bought to his lips by Liv. 

The hands that gently dressed his wound, were hers. 

When he opened his eyes in the night, there, sitting silent and watchful in the armchair beside him, was Liv. 

Likewise in the daytime, still he saw Liv. Quietly reading a book, or sipping a cup of tea. 

Then a blessed sense of calm tranquility swept over him, and as he sank back into the pillows he asked her, hardly daring to hear the reply. 

"It is Liv, isn't it?"

Her face creased into tears. Lips pressed fervently against his brow. Her expression so hopeful and tender that he couldn't bear it.  
It was she. 

God bless her. 

"Yes. It's me." She murmured, leaning close to him. "How are you feeling?" 

"Oh God!" He whispered, his voice a mere croak from his parched throat. "What have I done?" 

She hushed him gently. 

"It's okay. You're on the mend now." 

Her eyes were red rimmed and tired. Her face pale with the long wakefulness. 

"How long?" He asked. "What's happened? I shouldn't be here in bed.....the Election....I....." 

He began urgently to sit himself up, pushing back the coverlet and attempting to swing his legs round. 

"Shhhh! It's Saturday lunchtime and nothing untoward has happened. They are still trying to negotiate a coalition agreement. The Lib Dem's are out to win concessions, but the others aren't budging. You are not needed there. You are still weak and ill and you're going nowhere." 

And weak he was. 

Like a kitten. 

His limbs so heavy they refused to do his bidding. His head a fog of forgetfulness. He'd eaten virtually nothing since Thursday lunchtime. 

Gently she lifted his legs putting him back under the duvet. Then offered him a sip of tea. 

"You've been here?" He asked meekly. Laying back into the pillows with an accepting sigh. "All the time?" 

"Yes. Since early Friday morning." 

"Oh."

"Pat has been here also, he helped me. Took you to the bathroom. And Sam was here yesterday too." 

"Oh fuck!" Uninjured hand to his head, he began to sob uncontrollably. 

"They were here because they love you Malcolm. We all do." 

Saying nothing, she engulfed him in a comforting embrace. Stroking his forehead, soothing him, hushing his tears with such tenderness. 

"Don't!" He wept, trying to push her away. "Don't be kind to me! I don't deserve it. Shout at me, rail at me. Tell me I'm a fool, a cunt. Tell me I've done a stupid thing, and fucked up everything I stood to gain. Say you'll leave me to it and not trouble yourself with me again. I'm a fucking idiot. And I've blown everything." 

His face when he looked at hers was wracked with guilt and shame. 

"Malcolm! Stop! Don't chastise yourself because you fell from grace in a moment of weakness. You are human, and therefore fallible. Just as we all are. There is always a way back. You are so strong, and you have people around you who care and who love you. You were dry for three whole years, now you have a new goal. A target. To stay that way again for even longer. And you can do it. I have faith in you." 

Ceasing his sniffles, Malcolm looked incredulous. 

"Why are you not even angry with me?" 

Her sweet smile made him begin again. 

"What would that achieve?" She answered. "It's a negative emotion. It's not going to help either of us. You've had a blip Malcolm, and you've suffered because of it. Accept it. You feel like utter shite. Angry with yourself. Okay! Remember the way you feel now, even if you have little recollection of what happened Thursday night. Hold on to that and use it next time you're tempted. And make no mistake, there _will_ be a next time.....you've just got to use your coping strategies, your sponsor, your meetings, all the things you have up your sleeve to help keep you on track and stay sober." 

All the time she spoke, her arms remained around him. Holding him close, rubbing a hand on his back to make him feel secure.  
At her words he cried all the harder. 

He really was a mess. 

"Hush now. Come on. Why not lay back and try to sleep a little. Or if you're hungry I'll make you something. What do you fancy? Hmmm? Some soup maybe?" 

With a supreme effort, he quelled his tears. Sucking in air, calming himself. 

"Don't think I'd keep it down. Feel so queasy." He managed to choke out. 

"Okay. What about just some tea then? I'll make some fresh, this one is cold now." 

He nodded. 

Looking up at her with wide sorrowful eyes. 

"Can you stand a little light now? It's broad day out there, and the sun is shining." 

"Okay. Just a little. My head hurts like fuck, and so does this." He held his bandaged hand for her to see. 

"We think you must have fallen. I think you dropped the glass then slipped over in the puddle. There were shards of glass in the wound. It was fortunate you didn't sever a tendon or something." 

"I don't remember." He whimpered. "It stings like fucking hell." 

"I'd better have a wee look at it then. Don't want it to become infected." 

Malcolm lay still as his palm was cleaned and redressed. Wincing from time to time and swearing under his breath.  
Once done, he was helped to wash, given a shave and a clean T shirt, which he accepted without complaint.  
He then managed a whole cup of tea and some toast which Liv brought to him on a tray, before sinking back, exhausted. 

"Rest now Malc. Pat will be here shortly. He'll give you a proper shower. Then I'm going to pop home for a change of clothes and a shower myself, okay?" 

"Fuck! Liv....you've been here all this time.....taking care of me?" 

Liv smiled and dropped a kiss on his cheek. 

"Well, someone's got to! Sam is bringing dinner this evening for us all. We can eat together. Hopefully by then you'll feel more like some sustenance." 

His bottom lip was wobbling. Overwhelmed by the kindness he was being shown. 

It was too much. 

He yawned with weariness, reaching out his good hand to her. 

"Thank you." He whispered. "Thank you so much." 

"You're welcome. Now! Rest Malc. You're tired." 

She squeezed his fingers momentarily, then rose, crossing the room to stand by the window. 

Malcolm closed his eyes, sinking down. 

He did not see her shoulders shaking. 

oOo

It was seven o clock when his door bell rang and Liv opened it to admit Sam Cassidy, bearing dinner for them all. 

Malcolm had been assisted to shower and wash his hair by Pat. 

He appeared to have lost all sense of balance. 

So much so that he had to be helped down the stairs. 

No matter how hard he tried he didn't seem able to rid himself of the smell of booze. 

It clung to his very skin. Right under his nostrils. It made him feel almost constantly nauseous. 

By the time he made it downstairs, a place had been laid for him in the front room and the food on the table. 

Sam turned to him and smiled as he shuffled in. She thought he looked shrunken in some way, stooping forwards as he walked.  
Face grey and bloodless. 

"Well, you're looking better than when I last saw you." She said brightly, as he took his seat.

"Don't lie Sam. I look fucking shite." He retorted flatly. 

"Alright Malcolm." Came the quick response. "You look shite. But you look less shite than you did yesterday. Yesterday you looked totally fucking shite." 

A small portion of the tasty lasagne was dished up and placed in front of him. 

"This looks great but I don't think I can eat it." He stared down at his plate mournfully. 

Liv rose. 

"Shall I make you some toast?" She asked kindly. 

To her it seemed that he sat too low in the chair. That he was either no longer tall enough to sit at the table or else the table was too high for him. Like a small child might be. Slumped in his seat somehow, sagging at the chest and in the middle. 

At her words he looked up. 

His face was sunken too. Eyes big and wide. Cheeks hollowed. 

"Yeah. Please." He said in a low voice. 

As a little group they were somewhat subdued, but conversed together quietly. 

Except Malcolm who was silent. 

Liv found herself watching him surreptitiously out of the corner of her eye. 

He ate slowly. Macerating each mouthful round and round like a cow chewing the cud. 

Every swallow was hard for him, as if he were trying to ingest a tennis ball. 

After a short while she saw him push the plate aside and reach for his water. 

His hand was shaking so violently that it was virtually impossible for him to bring the glass to his lips without spilling the contents down his front. 

Part of her was desperate to help him, but she knew that if she drew attention to his plight he'd be more embarrassed and angry. His own frustration and self inflicted shame was bad enough, without her making it worse. 

"Feel sick." He said urgently, and began to gag suddenly. 

Pat helped him to the bathroom as quickly as was physically possible. 

Since he did not return, Liv went upstairs to him. 

He was seated on the edge of the bed when she entered. His head down. 

She sat herself next to him. 

"I've made you a hot chocolate drink." She said gently. "It might help settle your tummy a bit." 

Their shoulders were touching, and he turned his head to the side to look at her. 

"Why are you even bothering with me?" His tone was harsh. "Do you enjoy seeing me like this? Why don't you fuck off home and leave me to it?"

"Why would I do that?" She replied calmly, placing the steaming mug on the bedside table next to him. 

"Seriously Liv. I'm not fucking worth it. You're wasting yourself on me. You could have any guy." 

She leaned against him slightly. 

"I rather think that's for me to decide. Not you." She retorted, nudging into him with a hint of the comic. 

"I wish you'd go. I don't need your pity. Fuck off." His bloodshot eyes were hard as flint, glittering with wetness as he stared her down. 

"No!" She answered more sternly. 

He frowned angrily. 

"I'm the last thing you need. Look at me! I'm a fucking failure. I can't even piss at the moment without Pat holding my dick." 

"Oh stop feeling so fucking sorry for yourself Malcolm! You're displaying enough pity for the both of us! You've been an idiot. You got slaughtered. Well, now you're suffering for it. So, the quicker you accept it happened the quicker you can concentrate on coming back from it." 

"You won't go then?"

"No. I won't go." 

"Why the fuck not? It's what I want." 

"No it isn't. You're just saying that because you think that if you've told me I should go, I can then do as I'm told and leave with a clear conscience. It's bullshit. I'm going nowhere." 

"Why Liv? Why? Why the fuck would you stay in this charnel house?" 

"Because I love you. Why else?" 

He began to cry again suddenly, gradually his head came to rest against her and she wound her arms awkwardly around him, holding him close, letting him sob freely.

All afternoon he'd been weepy. The slightest thing seemed to set him off. 

As he wept she cradled him, speaking softly. 

"By tomorrow you'll start to feel better. The memory of this will fade. But you'll remember the aftermath Malcolm, how you feel right now. It'll make you all the stronger. You'll come out fighting. You'll see." 

After a few minutes he began to calm again. Lifting his head, straightening up. 

"You've more faith in me than I have in myself right now." 

"But that will change as you begin to recover. It'll be easier not to do it alone Malc. You'll need your support network behind you. And you have it. You have Pat....and Sam.....and me. And the AA people and a counsellor if you want one. People are on your side." 

"Yeah. And I let them down." 

She ignored his last comment out of hand. There was no point arguing with him right now. 

"Here. Try this chocolate before it gets cold." 

Taking a sip, he made a noise of contentment. 

"Good?" She smiled. 

He nodded and drank some more. 

"You'll stay tonight? You'll not leave me?" 

"Of course not. As if I'd leave you by yourself!" 

He sighed, seemingly reassured. 

"Thank you." He said quietly. Finishing the last dregs from the cup. 

Liv helped settle him back into bed and left him to sleep a while, rejoining the others downstairs. 

"He's so tired and very emotional." She remarked. "All he seems to want to do is sleep." 

"It'll take a while for that much booze to work it's way through his system." Pat explained. "It's toxic. His liver won't know what hit it for a day or two."

"Could it effect his health in the long run?" She asked. "Forgive my ignorance." 

"The liver is self healing." Pat replied. "Like your skin. If you can stop early enough, then it can repair the damage. In long term alcoholism the scarring becomes too advanced and the organ looses its functionality, but Malcolm sought help pretty quickly. He should make a full recovery. Providing he can stay clean. It'll be a week before he stops experiencing that groggy feeling. But he'll get there. He's done it before. He can do it again. The trick is not to look back. Keep looking to the future and not dwell on past failures." 

Sam began to clear the plates. 

"You'll stay with him tonight?" She enquired. 

"Yes. I promised him." 

"Don't be afraid to call me if you need help though." Pat interjected. "It can be a long night by yourself." 

Liv shrugged. 

"I'll be okay." 

Pat placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. 

"By morning he should start to feel a bit more human. Then the enormity of what he's done will really hit him. He'll feel guilt and shame and all the normal stuff, but probably be depressed too." 

A sudden thought struck Liv out of the blue. 

"What about work? Has anyone said anything?" She turned to Sam questioningly. 

"Well, on Friday everyone was running around like headless chickens. His absence was noticed, but I met Julius Nicholson in the corridor at No 10 and I told him Malcolm had gone to ground, and that he'd meet up with him next week if he still had a job. So I think I kinda headed him off at the pass so to speak." 

"Malcolm mustn't give a fuck about work for the next few days. He must concentrate on himself and regaining his strength." Pat advised. "It's important he doesn't go back too soon." 

Sam laughed.

"This is Malcolm Tucker we're talking about!" She said.


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night vigil.....and the next day......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Malcolm at his weakest. It's also another development in their relationship. 
> 
> The conversation with Julius is punctuated with a line of dots ............ to denote where Nicholson speaks but Liv can't hear. So Malcolm's responses are all she gets.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE. 

_“Instead of saying, "I'm damaged, I'm broken, I have trust issues" say "I'm healing, I'm rediscovering myself, I'm starting over.”_  
― Horacio Jones

.............

 

In the early hours of the morning Liv was woken from an uneasy sleep by the sound of running water. 

Leaving her makeshift bed in Malcolm's spare room she wandered out onto the landing. 

The bathroom door was ajar, the only light from a small lamp in the hall.

She knocked gently. 

"Malcolm? You okay in there?"

"Yeah. Give us a hand can you?" 

Pushing her way in she found him standing in front of the sink in the semi darkness. 

Wearing just his underpants, naked from the waist up. He was attempting to lave himself with a damp flannel, one handed. 

"What on earth are you doing?" 

"Had a bad dream. I woke up soaked through, so I thought I'd wash myself, I'm all clammy." 

In spite of saying he was hot, his teeth were chattering. It was impossible for him to squeeze out the wash cloth adequately with one hand, therefore the floor at his feet was wet and he was standing in a puddle. 

"I tried not to wake you." He seemed annoyed. 

"Doesn't matter. Here." She said softly. "Let me." 

In the half light his skin seemed to glow with a pale opalescence. Thin as a rake. Shivering. 

Whilst he held on to the sink edge with his good hand, she came in close behind him. 

The cloth was soft and warm as gently she began to pass it over his back. Beginning at the shoulders. 

The sensation made him shudder, his thighs trembling with the effort of holding himself upright there. 

"Do you want to go back and sit on the bed to continue this? You're shaking like a leaf." 

"I'm okay here. Just do it." He replied curtly. 

Liv ignored the bluntness. She knew he hated to be in this helpless position. 

It bothered him that he was her patient rather than anything else. 

However, right now, he surrendered himself to being washed down. 

Time seemed to fall away. Slow motion. Just the deft movement of her fingers as she cleansed him.  
Almost a ritual bathing. 

Between his bony shoulder blades and down the nobbled ridge of his spine to his waistband. The feel of it was so sensual that he let out a great sigh. 

"Feels good." He murmured. 

"Turn around to face me." 

He did as she bade him. Leaning his bottom against the sink. 

Watching her carefully as she ministered to him, his eyes following her tender movements. 

Paying careful attention to the two hollows on either side of his neck where his clavicles met, and the one in the centre just below his throat. Then down the washboard that was his chest, each rib visible.  
As she reached his stomach he sucked in a quick breath, as the warmth hit a sensitive spot.  
Beneath his arms, lifted one at a time and he was done. 

She'd reached around him each time to rinse the cloth, bringing her in such close proximity that she could feel the breath as it came from him.  
Now as she dried him off, tight little nervous puffs. As if being so scantily clad with her so near was almost more than he could handle.

For a single moment their heads were only inches apart, and raising her chin, she found his mouth and kissed him. 

It was the first time that it was not he initiating the action, but he immediately closed his eyes and reciprocated with fervour. 

After a few seconds she pulled away. 

"That's all you get!" She smiled. "Because you're poorly and it would be taking unfair advantage. Now let's find the talc!" 

He seemed momentarily disappointed, but then meekly accepted his lot. 

After he was dry, she walked him back to bed, bringing him a fresh shirt to cover himself. 

His old one lay where it had been discarded on the carpet. Drenched through. 

He seemed calmer now and certainly a good deal fresher. 

"Do you feel any better?" 

"Yeah. A little less unsteady on my feet I guess." He admitted. 

"Can I bring you a drink or anything before you settle down again?" 

"Some more of that hot chocolate would be great." He gave her his best puppy eyes, and was relieved when she smiled broadly. 

"Okay. I'll go make you some. I might have one myself!" 

She was soon back with two cups. Seated next to him, sipping the hot sweet liquid. 

"So fucking good." He smacked his lips appreciatively, draining the last. 

"You done?" 

"Yeah, thanks Liv." 

She took his mug and he climbed in under the covers. 

He looked up at her then, and his face betrayed him. His eyes were filled with tears. 

Sitting down beside him she took his hand. 

"Malcolm, it's okay. Don't get upset. By tomorrow you'll be feeling more your old self. I know it's hard to be reliant on someone like this, or beholden to them. But if all I can do is help to see you through this, then please, allow me. It's the least I can do." 

"It's not that." 

"What is it then?"

"I dunno. It's when I'm alone and it's dark. I go to sleep, then it starts. It's like dreams, only it's so fucking real. I wake up in a state, soaked through." 

"Pat says there's still alcohol in your bloodstream. It makes your brain go into sensory overload. Conjuring up all sorts. It's not unusual." 

He clung to her fingers as if to let her go would mean certain death. 

"Such a fucking Jessie, being scared o' the dark." 

God knows what it cost him to admit that. 

It drew Liv's heart right out of her body. Tearing it into pieces. 

To hear a man she was so used to seeing as a strong, vital, irascible force of nature, humbly admitting he was frightened. 

"Oh _Malcolm_!" She whispered. 

"Sorry I'm acting like a total cunt." 

"Malcolm you are not. Don't say that." Shifting herself closer, she stroked his forehead, and he closed his eyes with a relieved sigh. 

"I'll stay with you until you're asleep." She said softly. 

There was no decision to make, no inner conflict. 

She simply drew her legs up on top of the covers and laid her head on the pillow next to his. 

Gently, she began to pet his hair, beginning at his brow. 

He curled himself up beneath the duvet. Tucking himself as near as he could physically get, with the coverlet all that separated them. A deep quiet settled over them, the stillness of the wee small hours. 

"I love you so fucking much." He muttered as he began to drift. 

It was not long before his breathing slowed, evened out, becoming regular and deeper. 

As her own eyelids grew heavy, her hand gradually ceased its movement, settling over his body to keep him near. 

Liv woke first in almost the exact same position with the morning light. 

Snuggled together. He under the sheets. She on top. Heads side by side on the pillow. Arms locked around each other, as warm and comfortable as they could possibly be. 

Carefully and quietly she released herself from his clinging embrace. Leaving him to slumber on. 

His face looked peaceful at last. More relaxed. Although still careworn. 

She kissed his forehead gently and left the room without a sound. 

 

oOo

Olivia switched on the television whilst she prepared some breakfast and made coffee. 

The BBC news screamed of an agreement finally reached. Banner headline.

A cabinet made up mainly of the larger party, but including several high ranking Lib Dem's. Including their leader as Deputy Prime Minister. 

Meanwhile, Tom had not yet resigned, but it seemed that all members of the Party were calling for him to do so. 

She paused to listen, as the main salient points flashed across the bottom of the screen.

Malcolm should be there, in the thick of it all. Pulling strings, advising, commanding the press. 

His role as Election Strategist might be at an end, but he would certainly be needed as a Media Advisor. It was what he did best. Acting as the protective screen between the Party and the press. 

It worried her that in his absence, an underling such as Oliver Reeder might make a move. Thinking to undermine, or worse, bypass him and take his place. 

Picking up her mobile she texted Sam, asking her for news. 

Then picked up the remote and switched the TV off. 

"What's happening out there in the world?" 

Malcolm's appearance was so sudden that it made her jump. 

He was standing in the lounge doorway, dressed in a robe and slippers. 

His hair sticking up in all directions, little needles of silver stubble pricking out from his neck and chin. 

"I'm not sure." She replied honestly. "The new Government has been settled. There are five Lib Dem's in the cabinet. It is being heralded as a 'brave new world'. Tom appears to be hanging on to leadership by his arse hairs. But more than that it was difficult to glean. You weren't mentioned in the report, and I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not. I've messaged Sam for more info." 

"For fucks sake." 

She went to him to take his hand, but he waved her away. 

"I can manage." He snapped. 

"You want something to eat? I've made coffee." 

He saw her expression change at the ferocity of his tone, and softened it. 

"Yeah. I'm starving. I could eat a fucking elephant." 

He followed her into the galley kitchen and stood, hands in pockets, glancing around him. Deep in thought. Trying to piece together remnants of his Thursday night.  
His gaze settled on the empty wine rack. 

She followed the direction of his eyes. 

"There were only two left." She offered. "I threw them away." 

"I remember....." his brow was furrowed as he struggled to recall. " I was opening them and emptying them down the sink....I didn't drink them all....."

"Doesn't much matter now." She responded with finality, then changed the subject. 

"There's scrambled egg.....toast......and I have some fresh fruit cut up." 

"Yes please." 

"What, all of it?"

"Yeah."

"Not feeling nauseous now then?" 

"No. And I slept well after you made that chocolate drink."

Fuck! He didn't know she'd stayed beside him all night. He didn't remember.

"Good! I'm glad you did." She smiled bravely.

His mobile rang at that precise moment. 

Malcolm took it, looked at the screen, then answered it. 

He was suddenly transformed. His voice strengthening, his demeanour changing. Instantly he was Malcolm Tucker again. 

_"Morning my Lord."_

It was clearly Sir Julius Nicholson. 

She could only hear his half of the conversation but it wasn't difficult to guess what was being said. 

_"Of course I am. I'm fine."_

.........

 _"Can't I take a fucking day off?"_

...........

 _"No. It was a family crisis. Couldn't be helped. Why, did you miss me? Oh come on Jules. You don't need me to wipe your fucking arses!"_

...........

 _"You bet your Aunt Fanny I will. Yep, tomorrow morning bright and early. Well, it's nice to know I'm wanted!"_

............

 _"Absolutely! You know that little tosser Reeder wants to be me! In his fucking dreams.......I bet he is. Cunt. Looks like something out of the fucking Ant Hill Mob. What?"_

............

 _"Wacky fucking Races! Don't tell me you don't remember that? Didn't you have a childhood? Yeah that's right, and I'm fucking Dick Dastardly. Listen, I'll see you tomorrow. There'll be an Opposition press release and Tom will fucking resign._ 'After a great deal of thought I feel it's best'..... _We'll be electing a new leader. Now leave me the fuck alone will you? I've got stuff to do."_

He hung up and seemed to dissolve again. The brief return to 'the old Malcolm' nosedived. 

Weary and grey he sat himself down on the sofa. His head in his hands. 

Liv lowered herself at his side looking worried. 

"Pat said you shouldn't go back yet. You needed time to recover properly." 

"Fuck that. I'll be alright. I got all day today. By tomorrow I'll be back to normal." 

He turned to look at her sceptical face. 

"Didn't I hear you say something about scrambled eggs?" 

Without comment she returned to the kitchen. 

"If Sam texts back, tell her I'll see her in the morning." He added. 

In a few moments she returned and lay his breakfast tray on his lap. 

Seating herself opposite she watched him devour it. 

"This is good." He spoke through a mouthful. "Really good." 

Liv suddenly felt hollow. As if her insides had been scooped out. 

Pat had warned her of mood swings, irritability, melancholy and a host of other cheery prospects, but that didn't make it any easier when confronted by it. 

"Do you want me to stay with you today?" She asked, flatly. 

Now it was his turn to change expression. 

He regarded her keenly with eyes that still didn't possess their former clarity. 

"Had enough of me eh? I knew you would eventually." 

Liv's withering look silenced him. 

"You once said to me... _'don't let me make a cunt of myself'_. Remember?" 

Her companion nodded. 

"So! Don't make a cunt of yourself Malcolm." 

There was a long silence, suspended between them like the threads of wool on a spindle. Stretching and becoming thinner, until finally severed. 

"I merely asked, because I thought you might now have work to do if you're going back tomorrow. So I figured you might want some space. If you'd like me to stay, then I'd like to too." 

It suddenly occurred to Liv that she'd actually found a certain enjoyment, no, that wasn't the right word, peace perhaps? Satisfaction? Oh whatever......a certain fulfilment in taking care of him.  
His very vulnerability made him attractive. 

His brusque, dismissive cuntishness did not! 

Was cuntishness a word? It was now! 

Her thoughts broken, she spoke again. 

"Honesty Malcolm. Truth. We promised. Whatever happens now, however we go forward I need that from you. Secrecy, lies, half truths. They breed like bacteria. Multiply. Poison. Ultimately destroy.  
Don't fucking do that to me, no matter how bloody angry you are with yourself, with the world, with everyone in it, no matter how ashamed you feel about what's happened, whatever happens to you when you go back into that bear pit tomorrow.....just don't fucking shut me out and pretend it was all a dream. Because if you do I'll come over there and slap seven sorts of shit out of your miserable hide.... and don't think I couldn't!" 

Malcolm stood up. His face was ashen. 

Although he was more steady on his feet now, able to move more quickly, he still fumbled for the door frame for support. 

"Truth?" He said, with an ironic laugh and a sternness that belied his strength. "Truth is, of course I don't want you to fucking leave. Truth is just knowing you're somewhere in the house makes me feel so.....so.....oh I don't know the fucking word.....safe? Happy? Elated? Fuck knows. But truth is I know you can't stay indefinitely, so to make it easier for myself I make the break now. Before it's so bad I can't bear to see you walk out the door. So how fucking selfish am I? Truth is you've sustained me, you've saved me. And that scares the shit out of me because I love it. It's what I want. Having someone who cares....just for me. Exclusively for me. Christ! It's probably all I've _ever_ wanted. Hugh once asked me....many moons ago, if I was ever lonely. I told him no. I lied.....

As he was speaking Liv's face creased, and she began to cry but he ignored her tears, kept going. Too late to stop now. 

"......so, yeah. Truth. Truth is that when we started to become closer I didn't believe it. Wanted it. But it wasn't right. On so many levels. Honestly Liv, I didn't think you wanted the same as me. You embrace your solitude, enjoying your own space, your own time. We're not the same. We want different things. This....this here....." he swept his arms around him expansively......" this is what I was most afraid of. What I dreaded. Sam called it a 'leap of faith'.....and I did it. I jumped. Straight into a pile of shite."  
He sat down again.  
"Worse still, I _knew_ it would happen. So. Truth. I asked you if you'd had enough so I could give you a get out clause. Give you the chance to walk away and not look back. You deserve SO much better Liv. I don't deserve a friend like you, someone who loves me......I just.......fucking.....don't......." 

Before he could say another word he was enveloped in a crushing embrace, lips pressed fervently to his, swallowing his words and rendering him utterly speechless. So taken by surprise that it almost knocked the wind out of him, pushing him backwards into the cushions.  
She was kissing him feverishly, pecking at his cheeks, then returning to his mouth. Both hands came up, capturing his face between them and holding it firmly. 

Malcolm didn't fight. He didn't want to. Instead he let her have free rein, closing his eyes and allowing himself to be devoured. 

As she kissed she spoke. Short staccato half sentences, punctuated as she stopped to mash their lips together once again. 

"Malcolm. Just. Stop. Fucking talking. Just for once. I love you. You total arse. I've got. Exactly. What I deserve. Being. With. You. For fucks sake." 

Tears and kisses. 

She continued until she was worn out. Overwrought by the events of the last two days. Tired beyond reason.  
Eventually their mouth to mouth dissolved into snuggling. 

Curled together, stretched out, full length on the sofa. 

Falling inexorably. 

Sleeping soundly. 

Exhausted beyond measure. 

Malcolm's arms held her as close to him as humanly possible, mostly because he needed her there, and partly so she didn't roll off onto the floor. 

When he woke after an hour or so, she was still there. Head on his chest, hand on his heart. 

Breathing deeply. Tracks of dried salty tears on her cheeks. 

He gave the deepest sigh of contentment. 

Of course he didn't want her to fucking leave. He wanted her to stay forever. 

oOo

 

The television was permanently on, and permanently tuned to the news channel. 

Malcolm watched, holding his injured hand stretched before him, as Liv changed the dressing. 

Every so often, he drew in a sharp breath of pain. 

"Fuck!" 

"Sorry. I'm trying to be careful." 

The cut was weeping, soiling the dressings. She cleaned it meticulously. 

"I'm sure you really aught to have had stitches." She remarked. 

"Fuck that. I'm not sitting in A&E for six hours in amongst the sprained ankles, the pukers and the kids who've swallowed their own Lego....it'll heal." 

Tenderly, she applied a fresh bandage. 

"There! You're done."

Malcolm wiggled his fingers experimentally. 

"Thanks Liv. I'll survive." 

He chanced a little smile. 

"You were lucky." She admonished. "It could have been a great deal worse." 

"Glad it's my left." He said cheerfully. "At least I can still hold a pen, wipe my own arse and have a wank." 

She gave him her best eye roll. Making him laugh out loud. 

It was the first time she'd seen him laugh properly for a week.


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm is back at work......being in Opposition is going to be no picnic!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the show, Tom Davis does resign after the failed election result. But his conversation with Malcolm is my own invention. 
> 
> It is also canon that Glenn Cullen ceases to work for the Party following polling day. Although his reason for doing so is cited as being a difference of opinion with Nicola, he jumps ship when she is elected leader of the opposition, because apparently she scuppered his ambition to run for election as a minister at some point in the past.  
> In this story he has defected already, before Nicola becomes leader.
> 
> Sir Julius Nicholson does not appear in the show after series three, but as a peer his influence would still be felt after the election I'm sure, so I've left him in. 
> 
> Miss Trunchbull is the evil teacher from 'Matilda' by Roald Dahl. 
> 
> Following his sweep into power in 1945, when Winston Churchill was thoroughly defeated, in 1950 Clement Attlee was confident of another win. He won the election for Labour but with only a very small majority. He called a snap election in 1951 hoping to increase his majority and was, instead, ousted by a resurgent Churchill who was by now well past his prime.
> 
> Wake. By Anna Hope is well worth a read. A story set on Armistice day 1920. When the body of the unknown warrior was brought home from the battlefield for interment at Westminister Abbey.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR. 

_“We have to allow ourselves to be loved by the people who really love us, the people who really matter. Too much of the time, we are blinded by our own pursuits of people to love us, people that don't even matter, while all that time we waste and the people who do love us have to stand on the sidewalk and watch us beg in the streets! It's time to put an end to this. It's time for us to let ourselves be loved.”_  
― C. JoyBell C.

 

...........

The vision of Malcolm Tucker swinging into the Norman Shaw buildings for the first time was a sight to behold. 

Walking briskly. Tie flapping. A sheaf of papers tucked in his arm. 

He could not disguise the pallor of his skin, nor the fact that since Thursday he'd probably shed half a stone. 

The place was in a state of disarray. Random people milling about. 

Disorganised chaos. 

Boxes and files and other bits and pieces had recently been brought over from No 10. The contents of his posh office there, had been shoved unceremoniously into his new office here.  
Sam was inside, trying to put things to rights. 

Everything was still in the process of being set up. Computers, extra phone lines, new shelving. 

Oliver Reader was sitting at his desk chewing his pen. It was he who noticed Malcolm first. 

Looking at him with some surprise as he crossed the floor. 

"Fucking hell Malcolm. What the heck happened to you? Have you had the flu?"

His superior glared. 

"No! I've fucking started chemo. Okay?" 

Ignoring the attempt at humour, Ollie went in again. 

"Where the hell have you been? Everyone's been asking." 

"I've been to Outer Mongolia, where I'm setting up a yak breeding programme. Ever been there? You should try it. There's a lot to be said for life in a yurt." 

"Did one of the yaks bite your hand then?" The idiot smiled with amusement at his own joke. 

"No. Bertie fucking Wooster. I tried to slash my wrists when I realised I was surrounded by cunts who ask stupid questions, but I missed." 

Reeder was silenced. 

Looking around the new work area, he noticed something missing, or rather, someone. 

"Where's Cullen?" 

Ollie looked uncomfortable. 

"Get him here now, I want to speak to him." 

"No can do I'm afraid. He's in cahoots with 'the other side'." 

"What?" 

"Apparently he's been talking to Adam Kenyon." 

"The fucker's defected? Jesus Christ, who does he think he is? George Smiley?"

"We have Helen Hatley as a new advisor in his place, and John Duggan is now Party Press Officer." 

"Duggan? Who the fuck authorised that? The man is a complete tool. He's the boil on the backside of humanity." 

Ollie coloured. 

"Er. I did actually." 

Malcolm turned on his underling furiously. 

"What the fuck is wrong with you? You know why he wears his fringe long like he does? It's to hide the lobotomy scar. For fucks sake!" 

"Well, you weren't here. And no one could get in touch with you. You weren't answering your phone. I had to use my initiative." 

"What can I say. The signal is shite in Ulan Bator. And initiative? Initiative you say......ha! You've got about as much initiative as the guy with a nut allergy who goes to work on a peanut farm.  
Fucking hell. I have one day off.....one fucking day......I need a coffee.....if anyone wants me, I'm in my office. There'll be a press release ready for the lunchtime news. You'd better tell whoever's replaced Miss Trunchbull." 

"I assume you mean Terri......" Ollie addressed Malcolm's retreating back. 

"Who else!" Came the reply as the office door closed behind him.....

 

......Sam looked up from the desk where she was in the process of unpacking a cardboard file box. 

Her face brightened at the sight of him. 

Before he could protest he was enveloped in a warm hug. 

His cheeks kissed, and then his tie knot straightened as if he were a teenager about to set off for the prom. 

"You look bloody terrible!" She beamed. "But I'm so glad to see you." 

A few weeks before he would never have allowed it. 

"Thanks a lot. Nice to see you too." He retorted. 

"I'm still trying to get straight in here as you can see, we weren't allocated until this morning. There's an awful lot to do." 

"It's a fucking mess. You'd better call Tom. I need to see him. We've got to have a wee chat about his resignation." 

"Oh! He's resigning then?" 

"Yes. But he doesn't know it yet." 

Sam nodded. 

"Ah, I see." 

She reached for the telephone and dialled. 

 

oOo

 

"........You see, Tom, you have done stirling work for the Party. You've brought it on, leaps and bounds. But the electorate decided not to vote for you in sufficient numbers, and therefore you've lost the support of your colleagues." 

Tom Davis skirted around the detritus from his former home at No 10, perching on the edge of the desk, it was yet to be unpacked and sorted. His face swathed in a melancholy air. 

"But I feel I can win them back. And who can take my place? No natural leader of sound ability springs to mind." 

Malcolm shook his head. 

"I'm afraid it's too late for that. The election is lost. If we are to avoid a decade in the wilderness, you have to do the right thing. I'm sorry, but that's the way it is." 

The former leader wandered back and forth as he spoke. He looked lost. 

"I can't understand why we lost. The opposition were so uncoordinated and divided. I felt sure we'd pull it off." 

Malcolm shook his head doubtfully. 

"It's like the snap election in '51. Attlee had done so much, was hoping to increase his majority, but the voters turned their backs on him. They chose instead, an old man, who whilst undoubtedly a wartime hero, was well passed his sell by date. It's just the fickleness of the public Tom. It's the way it goes." 

"Malcolm, I trust you. I trust your judgement. Even when the Fleming debacle happened, you never allowed it to reflect back on me. I admire you for that. You were loyal. If you really think I should go......" 

The doctor of spin gave a sigh. 

"I look at it this way. If there's a challenge to your leadership it looks as though there's discontent in the ranks. People clambering for the removal of your balls. It sends a poor message. But if you were to make a stirring speech to the effect that you've lead the Party admirably all this time, achieved many of your aims, bringing in legislation which has helped our country to renewed prosperity, and now you feel it's the right moment to step aside and allow a new leader to come in with new policies and a fresh perspective......well....you keep your dignity. Everyone stands at the sides as you leave, head held high, as they clap your achievements and say what a damn fine politician you were. You walk away with your scrotum intact....." 

Shaking his head the former Prime Minister capitulated. 

"Very well." He sighed. "I'll leave the press release to you. See to it Malcolm. Arrange for a formal announcement and I'll read a prepared statement following the bulletin." 

"Consider it done." 

Tom seated himself, downcast. 

"Well! I don't suppose we will see much of each other once I've been consigned to the sanatorium where old politicians go to die." He gave a little smile. "Thanks for your comradeship and your hard work Malcolm. It hasn't gone unnoticed, the hours you've put in, your dedication. It's a sad day." 

He held out a hand. Malcolm did the same, his still shook, and he hoped his ex leader didn't notice, or if he did, would put it down to emotion. 

"Who will my replacement be do you think? That devious little fucker Miller I expect." 

Malcolm was surprised at the invective, and smiled slightly. 

"I couldn't really say. Although I suppose he'd be the MP's choice." 

"Oh come on Malc! You must have an idea. Is it him or not? The weasel made everyone think he was going to mount a challenge last time, then he suddenly left his supporters high and dry and backed me. He exposed the malcontents and neutralised several other potential threats by doing that." 

"Well, he's popular with his cabal. Fleming champions him certainly. But he's not the voters favourite. He comes across as slimy. Insincere. They don't warm to him. So. If I were a betting man....which I'm not. I'd put my money on an outsider." 

Tom's eyebrows raised. 

"Really? Who?" 

"We'll have to wait and see who crawls out of the woodwork." He replied wearily. "No doubt we'll learn soon enough. I hate leadership contests. It brings out the worst in people. Everyone jostling for position. Cozying up to their candidate. Picking faults in each other. It's a nasty business." 

"You look tired Malcolm. If you don't mind me saying so. Perhaps it's time you hung up your spurs too?" 

Another little wry smile wavered, then was gone. Blink and you'd miss it. 

"Aye. Well. Trouble is, I don't know owt else. But you're right. I am tired. Fucking tired. In fact I should be at home resting, as I was advised. But here I am. Still fighting fires." 

"I hadn't realised you'd been unwell." 

"Nothing much. Just a touch of flu. But I'll be pleased to be away back to ma bed."..........

 

........The press release went out on the lunchtime news bulletin. 

The opposition leadership race had begun.

oOo

By the time Malcolm reached the safe cocoon of his home he was utterly exhausted. 

Giving himself only a weekend to recover from his binge was nowhere near enough. 

He knew Pat's advice was sound, yet he hadn't been able to take it. 

Stripping off his jacket, tie, and the trousers which were too loose around the waist and which he'd been hauling up all day, as his belt was already on the last notch.  
He entered his kitchen in his shirt, pants and socks. 

Hungry. 

Fuck it all! The last thing he felt like now was cooking. 

Opening the fridge he decided to look and see if there was anything he could munch on without bothering too much. 

There, on a plate covered with cling film was a portion of shepherds pie. 

Affixed to it was a 'post it' note. 

_20 mins in oven at 180° or 4 mins at 850w in microwave. Enjoy! Love you. Liv. X_

He almost wept. 

She just knew what he needed most it seemed. Every time. 

Twenty minutes......time to shower and change while it cooked. 

Reaching for his phone he texted. 

_"I fucking love you!"_

The reply come quickly. 

_"You found it then? Lol."_

_"You've no idea how pleased I was! Thanks Liv."_

_"How are you?"_

_"Fucking done in. I'm gonna shower, eat and go to bed early."_

_"Sounds like a plan. It was such a weird day here. So much change going on. So many strange faces."_

_"Yeah. Listen Liv, I gotta go, I can't talk now, I'm so knackered. Speak tomorrow yeah?"_

_"Alright Malc. You go. Love you okay? Try to get a good nights rest."_

_"Bye love.xxx"_

oOo 

Returning to her own home was like entering a spa retreat. 

Her own sofa, with her own stuff around her. The new kitchen which she loved so much. Her own comfortable bed. 

Solitude to do with what she will. 

Loving and being loved was still quite a novelty. Whilst she felt ready to embrace it she also needed some time for herself.  
Loving a man like Malcolm was never going to be easy. 

Having him love her was no picnic either. 

But it still filled her with an inexpressible joy. 

Liv hadn't realised how exhausting it had been taking care of Malcolm. 

How much effort she'd put in. 

Now she had a few hours breathing space. 

For simple pleasures. 

A nice cappuccino from her own coffee machine. Fire on. Feet up. 

New book. 

_'Wake. By Anna Hope.'_

With a sigh of contentment she settled back, dunked a biscuit, sipped her drink, and opened the first page.......


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is Malcolm's moment to shine.....and he doesn't disappoint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The details of Liv's married life are something that is more common than people think.  
> There are several bodies in the UK to offer help to those who suffer at the hands of their partners. (Be they male or female)
> 
> http://www.nationaldomesticviolencehelpline.org.uk/support-a-friend-or-family-member-experiencing-domestic-violence.aspx
> 
> https://www.womensaid.org.uk/the-survivors-handbook/im-worried-about-someone-else/
> 
> https://www.victimsupport.org.uk/crime-info/types-crime/domestic-abuse
> 
> You can also contact the police, citizens advise, or the NHS run a domestic abuse hotline.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE. 

_“And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter— they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long.”_  
― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

 

............

.... _three weeks later_.......

Things were calmer now. 

More even. Less finely balanced. 

Malcolm was well, attending twice weekly AA sessions, plus regular meetings with Pat. 

Liv had decided that for the foreseeable future she would not drink around him. It was a small sacrifice to make, and although he'd told her it was perfectly fine, she considered it prudent that they be teetotal together at least for now.

Lately they stayed at home rather than heading off into the West End or out and about generally. 

Malcolm needed to take stock, and quiet evenings in, either at his own place or at Liv's were all he really wanted for the time being. 

It was having her there with him that he relished most.

Knowing she was near. It gave him an enormous sense of peace. 

Being able to relax, share a laugh. Cooking together, watching TV or a movie on a Saturday night, having someone to cuddle up to. Domestic harmony. 

They were undoubtedly drawing ever closer. 

Up until now there had been no attempt by either to become more intimate.

Malcolm shied away from what he feared might be too much too soon. 

Liv was quietly terrified that she would react badly if he tried anything, and she knew she needed to address the situation before it became 'a thing'.

It was her major hang up. The one legacy of her marriage that she didn't seem able to leave behind. 

Just thinking about it made her go cold, giving her vivid flashbacks. 

If anything it was becoming progressively worse the nearer she seemed to move to that point with Malcolm.  
Like standing on the edge of a precipice. 

Sam's words echoed in her head. _'Tell him Liv. Talk to him. He's a gentleman and a gentle man. If you don't he'll think it's something he's done.'_

But she couldn't. 

Liv knew that Sam had hit the nail firmly on the head in that disarmingly simplistic, truthful way she had about her.  
She had known Malcolm a long time. Worked alongside him. She knew how easily he blamed himself for things, beat himself up on a regular basis.  
But she also knew of his inherent respect for women generally, and how mortified he would be if he thought he'd done something wrong or behaved inappropriately. 

The two women were now firm friends. Kindred spirits. Meeting up from time to time. Brought together by their mutual regard for one man. 

Malcolm Tucker.....

........

"Malcolm?" 

Hearing his name brought him back into the room, he raised his head from where it lay in her lap. 

He was meant to be watching Newsnight, but actually he'd almost dozed off. 

"Yes love."

"I'm tired. I think I should go home." 

Sitting up with a stretch and a yawn, he mussed his hair with his own hand. 

"What is it?" 

Then, seeing her face, he swallowed. 

"Oh Christ! You haven't had enough of me have you? Wanna call it a day?" 

She gave a little playful thump on his arm, and an eye roll. 

"No! Silly. Nothing like that." 

Her companion looked relieved. 

"You can stay if you want. I made up the spare bed fresh." 

Always he was like this. Never pushy, never expecting. 

But somehow anticipating what she might need. 

"Are you sure?" 

"Course. You're always welcome here, you know that. Hey, and you can make us some of that hot chocolate....." 

The grin he gave her was cheeky, eyes mirthful. 

She was so grateful. 

He put her at ease. She felt so comfortable with him.

For some reason, on this particular night, her own bed was not calling to her. She'd stayed over like this a couple of times over the past three weeks. It was fine.  
Malcolm was not about to rush into anything, he'd recently been to hell and back.

Sex was not at the forefront of his mind. He didn't need the added complication....

She really _was_ tired. 

Although she didn't quite know why. 

They kissed goodnight on the landing.

Once in bed she was very quickly asleep. 

Descending rapidly into the REM sleep which frequently gave her the bad dreams.  
It had been a while since this had happened however. 

Not since her ex had turned up and smashed in her front room window. 

She'd hoped to banish them forever, but her thoughts of earlier in the evening made her mind busy. 

It was not long before she was in the grip of a nightmare. One of the worst she'd experienced in a long time. 

A face suspended above her, she could feel the weight on top of her, holding her in place. It felt as though she were being stifled. 

In the dream she was struggling, fighting, her breath coming short and fast. Eventually she managed to break free and began to scream. 

Screaming herself awake. 

Shocked, she sat bolt upright. 

Was it daylight? No. 

The lamp was on in the room. 

Malcolm was seated on the edge of the bed beside her, his face filled with concern. 

Reaching out he touched her hand gently. 

"Hey! Hey! Liv.....it's okay......you were having a nightmare." 

It took a few seconds before she really came to. Remembered where she was. Recognised the worried expression, as he held her arm. 

"Oh God! Malcolm!" 

Sitting forward she flung her arms around his neck and broke into sobs. She clung to him as if she were drowning. 

His arms enfolded her, holding her close. Hushing her. Stroking her hair. 

"Shhhh! It's okay. I'm here. Let it go." 

"Don't leave me alone." She wailed. "I can't breathe." 

Malcolm was rocking her from side to side slowly. Continuing to comfort her. 

It was a while until she was sufficiently calm so that he felt able to let her go. 

"I won't just go away and leave you like this. You scared the fuck out of me."

She seemed frozen, unable to stop shaking. 

"Liv, come into my bed with me. I'll hold you tight, keep you safe....okay......nothing's gonna happen to you while I'm here." 

"With you?" 

"Yes. With me. Nothing will happen. I promise. Do you trust me?" 

She looked into his eyes, searching them. 

"Yes." She nodded. 

Rising, he led her by the hand. Padding back along the landing. 

Into his room. 

Malcolm's bed was large and extremely comfortable. 

Pulling back the covers he climbed inside and invited her to do the same. 

Liv hesitated. 

"I'm frightened." 

"Of me?" 

"No. Of myself."

Malcolm held his arms out to her. 

"C'mere to me." He said softly. 

And she did. 

There was no more hesitation. No need to worry that she wasn't secure with Malcolm. He would take care of her. Just as she had taken care of him only a few weeks before.  
He would not question, he would not press his advantage. 

She knew it. 

Bringing up her knees she curled up beside him, snuggling into his side. 

Exhaling deeply. 

Sleep was impossible however, and she lay stubbornly awake. Hovering between tears and mild hysteria. With only his arms to anchor her.  
Right now, it was what she needed most, and he instinctively knew it. 

"What were you dreaming about?" He asked presently. 

"I can't say." 

"You don't remember?" 

"I remember only too well." 

"And you can't tell me, or you don't want to?" 

A single tear escaped from the corner of Liv's eye and started, slowly, to creep down the side of her face. 

"Oh Malcolm......" Her head burrowed into his chest. "It's too horrible, and it's so painful." 

"He hurt you very badly didn't he, your ex?" 

She nodded vigorously against his rib cage. 

"Is it a 'sitting up in bed with a cup of tea' type of thing, or a 'cuddled up in my arms so you can cry it out' thing?" 

"The latter probably." 

"Okay. Fair enough."

He was fully awake now. 

Her body still chilled against him, she was still shivering. 

"Jesus!" He exclaimed pulling her closer. "It's worse than my DT's." 

"Will you kiss me Malcolm?" 

"Of course, but why do you want me to now?" 

"Because when you kiss me it's wonderful, I feel like it's how I should be kissed....not how he did it." 

"How did he do it?" He hardly dared to ask. 

"When he kissed me, it was nothing like you do it......sometimes he liked to push me against the wall and hold me there....here. " She placed her hand around her own neck, forcing her own chin upwards. "He'd press his fingers in until I struggled. I think he enjoyed that. "

"Fucking hell Liv." 

Malcolm leaned over and allowed his lips to touch hers. His kiss was tender, feeling her body moulded against his. Closing his eyes. Feeling the connection from his toes to the roots of his hair.  
He pulled back. 

Her eyes were closed too, immersed in the pleasant sensation. 

"You want to sleep.....or you want to talk?" He asked gently. 

His voice was low and quiet. 

"Honestly? I want to tell you the story of a very stupid woman. A woman who allowed things to happen to her that no one should endure. A woman who is still suffering because of her own foolishness. I have thoughts."

"I have ears." He murmured, settling down at her side. 

"I've got to be clear on one thing. He wasn't like that in the beginning. You have to believe me." She began. "He was kind, loving. He was only 18. He was working in a restaurant kitchen. I was waitressing. I was 17. It was just meant to be you know? Young love. My first real boyfriend."

"Aye. I know, love." 

"It was only later, after I left university. He'd started work in the City then, but he didn't want me to go far away for Uni or live in, because he said we'd hardly see each other, so I didn't. I stayed at home, travelled in for classes." 

"So it goes right back to then?" 

"Oh God! _Yes_. And until this very moment I didn't even realise that. I thought it began when we moved in together. All the little things he did. Slowly but surely. Nothing was in my name. Nothing belonged to me. The house, the mortgage, the deeds, everything. I was living in a house that was his. It was like I was the lodger. Or worse, a housekeeper. But it didn't really become bad till he made it to the big time. Big money. We moved into a beautiful home. After that everything just changed." 

Slowly, Malcolm's warmth seeped through to her. He was calm, gentle. One hand slowly circling the cusp of her shoulder as he held her close.  
With him there, she felt she could say anything. 

That it wouldn't matter. He would listen, he would comfort. It was okay. 

The passing of that thought made her relax a little. 

It was a few moments before he spoke. 

"No man has a god given right to treat a woman like that Liv. It's abuse. Whichever way you look at it. And you saying you were foolish? That's bollocks. You were gradually being emotionally controlled." 

She gave a deep sigh. 

"I suppose so." 

"I _know_ so!" 

"It was all so subtle though, Malcolm. I didn't even realise it was happening. Nothing I ever did was good enough. Especially if we were having his family round. His mother once had a go at me too, saying that I hadn't prepared enough food when we had a party at our, or should I say, his house. It was like I'd failed as a hostess. I'd never be as good as his fucking mother. It was awful." 

"For fucks sake Liv. It makes me ashamed for my gender. Some men like that feeling of power. Especially over women. Perhaps some of that went hand in hand with the blokey environment he worked in. The mighty City. The brokers. The money men. Wheeler-dealers. It's a risk takers job. A masculine, testosterone fuelled muscle fest. I've seen it in The House. Seen the way the male MP's like to belittle their female counterparts. It's partly why we don't have more female politicians. The constant put downs, the harassment. Misogyny. Men in a big group are like a troop of fucking howling gorillas. All chest thumping. Macho display. It makes me want to vomit." 

Pulling away from him, she sat up, drying her eyes, arranging the pillows behind herself, so that she was propped more upright. 

"Why couldn't I see it? I can't believe my own naiveté."

"Because you loved him and you thought he loved you. And it was all you'd ever known. So there was no benchmark with which to compare." 

"It makes me so angry now. But it's more with myself than him." 

Shifting himself onto one elbow, Malcolm turned towards her earnestly. 

"Even now you are conditioned to blaming yourself. You are still making excuses for him. Make no mistake Liv. This was his shit. Not yours." 

"You know later on, he'd phone me dozens of times a day, to see what I was doing. Then he wanted to install cameras in the house. He said it was for security." 

"I'm guessing you'd given up work by then?" 

"Yes!" Liv looked at Malcolm shamefaced. "He suggested I should. His reason was that we'd start a family after we got married. But that was never going to happen. After we married it got so much worse. Because then I was his property too, just like everything else he owned."

"Oh sweetheart. So he basically tricked you, with the promise of starting a family." 

"Well, yes. I guess he did. It had taken him twelve years to ask me to marry him. In fact I was almost on the brink of giving up on him, and I think that galvanised him into action. I didn't want a baby unless I could give it his name. I told him so. He'd have been happy to just have a kid. I know we were only young when we met, and he wasn't ready then, but twelve years! Twelve fucking years! Why didn't I just leave him then? Why did I stay?" 

"Because you didn't want to see it Olivia. You thought you had the perfect man, the perfect home and the perfect life. He must have been fucking loving it. Living the dream! Out on the razz with clients, drinking and carousing, then comes home to the little woman. Fuck me! What a cunt." 

Having the stark reality put to her like that, not by a woman but by another male. Somehow made it all seem to make sense.  
Liv was, for the first time, really understanding. It was crystal clear, and Malcolm was quantifying it for her. Putting it into perspective.  
This was different to when she'd spoken to Fiona. Different to when she'd visited the counsellor, who gave her stock answers and textbook strategies. 

Malcolm made it simple. Made it real. Finally she was actually 'getting it'. 

"But, if I was with him, he liked me to look the part when we went out, particularly if he was entertaining the big clients." 

"So he told you how you should fucking dress?"

"Well, not to the point of choosing my outfit, but he liked me to.....I dunno.....make an effort.....make up, hair.....you know.....he was never jealous of other men with me, never showed it anyway. He trusted me implicitly you see. He would almost parade me. It was like 'look what I've got'. He knew how completely I was his."

"Holy fucking shitballs! So just chipping away at your confidence. Slowly but surely. Drip feeding you from time to time with a swanky holiday, or a weekend away or whatever. Keeping you sweet. It's like you were his fucking Barbie doll for Christ's sake." 

"You know, I don't think he ever really wanted to get married. It was better for him financially you see, if I was just his girlfriend. There was nothing legal and he knew everything was in his name. He'd already hidden away loads of stuff I knew nothing about. Had we not been hitched I'd have probably got nothing much at all by way of settlement. At least in monetary terms." 

"All squirrelled away I expect." 

"Oh yeah. Secret accounts, passworded, phones I didn't know about, all sorts....."

Malcolm's face clouded, his brows deeply furrowed.

"......it was the secret phone that caught him out. I'd been out for an evening with the girls and he'd been partying in the city, he came home blind drunk and he'd fallen asleep with it on his pillow. Hundreds of text messages from girls. Or rather one in particular. And photos in strip joints and lap dancing clubs." 

"For fucks sake! Was he ever a violent drunk?" 

"Not in the punching or kicking sense no. Never." 

"Just emotional abuse then. Although that's fucking bad enough. Undermining your confidence. Being a general controlling tosser." 

Liv was silent. 

Malcolm's thoughts at what he'd heard were still churning around inside his head. Trying to make sense of it all. 

It was a few moments before he realised she was crying quietly beside him again. 

"Oh darl. It's so fucking hard. I know it must be. C'mere to me, let me hold you and show you that some blokes are honourable, not all bastards like him. I can't believe you've come so far, you're so fucking amazing." 

Her small round face was white. Eyes big as saucers. Swimming and brimming over. 

Malcolm quite thought the confession time was over, but he was wrong.  
A tremble was running through her whole body. Breath coming fast and furious, then he understood.......there was more to come. 

His eyes searched hers questioningly. He could hardly bear to hear what he could guess was coming, he knew, that for her, it would be better to tell it. But he also knew he mustn't push her too hard. Lest she break. 

"You've come this far sweetheart. And you're a brave wee girl. You may as well get it all out. You'll feel better when you have. And then I'll know. I'll know everything, and we can either leave it be or discuss it anytime, without fear or embarrassment or anything else.....so. Let's expose this cunt for all his fucking power over you and all his fucking abusive behaviour. The man with the tiny dick who treats a woman like utter shit. Let's hear all about the big guy eh?"

He felt her chest rise with a deep inhale, then sink back as she let it go. 

"There were certain things he liked. He watched a lot of porn, and those women on there.....well.....I think he wanted me to be like that. When he wanted me at all." 

Reaching forwards Malcolm touched her left cheek with his thumb, wiping the wetness away. He gave her a little gentle kiss on the lips. 

"Tell me." 

Now she tried to speak through her sobs, the words trickled out of her like poison. A flurry of tears and mucous and snot. 

"He enjoyed pouncing on me unawares in the bedroom, there was absolutely no foreplay. He'd hold me down, strip me and fuck me. While he did it he'd tell me I liked it like that. Or I enjoyed it. Sometimes it was painful and I'd cry out. That made him fuck me harder. He did that more than once. He liked me to play the whore in the bedroom, the cook in the kitchen, the cleaner, or his mother, doing his washing and ironing. Why Malcolm? Why did he do it? And why didn't I realise? I did nothing. Nothing at all." 

"He's a total cunt and a fucking rapist and he should be locked up. I hope to God I never fucking meet him." 

"But it wasn't rape. I never said 'no'. I just gave in and let him do it. I never said 'no'."

"Liv.....did you ever ask him to stop when he was hurting you?" 

"Yes, of course. I cried." 

"Then it's fucking rape." 

"I should have done something. I should have said no."

Malcolm's fury at her words boiled within him. But he forced it down. Keeping himself calm and soft for her.  
She trusted him with these secrets.  
He could not betray that trust. 

"Oh my dear girl!" She melted against his chest now, still jerking with wracking sobs. "How could you do anything? You were controlled. Manipulated. You were told what to think and conditioned as to what to do. And how do you fight a strong powerful man of over six foot tall? What chance would you stand?" 

"I get flashbacks Malcolm. Dreams." She wept. "And that's why I'm afraid. That's why I wanted you to know. What if you tried to touch me or want us to have sex and I went apeshit? You'd think it was something you'd done wrong. What if I can't go through with it at all? What if I'm scared to even do it, in case it sparks the memories? How could I not tell you all that? I had to tell you eventually. I had to." 

"Easy. Easy. Come on now." He took her face in his hands. Looking at her earnestly. "Olivia, we have absolutely no agenda here, okay? There's no urgency to make love. No rush. I'm not in the habit of pressurising women for sex. Whatever we do, we do on your terms. When you are ready. If it gets fruity and you don't like it, then you fucking tell me. And I stop. I might be a cunt in other things. But I'm not a cunt who rapes women. Who forces them against their will. You dictate when you can and can't be touched, or kissed or anything else. Your body doesn't belong to me, or any other miserable fucker. It belongs to you. Are we clear?" 

She fell upon him, clinging around his neck tightly. Pressed against his chest. 

"Oh God, Malcolm! I love you so much. But I'm so worried....what if you're turned on, what if what happened in the park happens.....say right here.....in your bed?" 

"Then that's my problem to deal with. Not yours." 

"But.....you're a man Malcolm. And what if you want it and I don't....or can't...." 

"Then we don't do it. It's that simple Liv. We do it when you are ready to do it. And not before." 

He dropped a kiss on her mouth. Just a peck. But one that was tender and reassuring. 

"Tea? I think we need tea."

"It must be two o'clock in the morning." 

"There's never a time when tea is not appropriate Liv. Seriously!" 

"In that case, I'd love a cup of tea Malcolm!" 

oOo

Finally, exhausted, she sank down into sleep.....

Olivia was walking. 

The sun was shining, gulls crying. 

She was by the sea. 

There was a strange feeling of peace. A tranquility of mind. 

Beneath her feet was hard sand with little shiny brown pebbles and pink seashells studding it.

A strong wind blew into the coast and brought with it huge curling waves, which crashed onto the shore. 

As the breakers broke they boiled and foamed, the foam blowing inland, light as a feather, like someone running a bubble bath. 

At first she thought she was entirely alone. 

Not a soul walked there. No dogs, no children playing. 

The only voice that of the wind, ceaselessly muttering. 

Empty. 

Just the stretch of an empty bay sweeping away from her. 

There were no little boats bobbing about either. It was as if she'd been dropped there on this desolate shore.

Beneath her, the stones crunched. Every footstep a whispered sound. 

Each wave brought a whoosh and a crash of water as it curled over, collapsed, and rushed into shore. 

Gradually she became aware that as each of her steps made a sound, another footfall was close beside her. 

She wheeled round, momentarily afraid. 

It was Malcolm. 

He was picking his way along, slightly in her wake. 

Hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the stiff breeze. His hair tugged, face pinched, eyes narrowed as he scanned the strand in front of him. 

A strange thrill ran through her at the sight of him. So pleased to see him there. 

"Malcolm!" She called. 

But the wind took her words and whirled them away. 

"MALCOLM!" She yelled, as loud as her lungs could manage. 

Looking up, he smiled. 

A soft, contented smile, which filled her with inexpressible joy.....

 

She woke with his name on her lips. 

Opening her eyes and spiralling upwards from the deepest sleep, staring up at the ceiling. 

It was daylight. 

Turning to the side, she found she was alone in the big bed. 

Spread out on her back like a star fish. 

A feeling of warmth. Closely cosseted. A dent in the mattress at her side where he had recently lain. 

Where was he? 

Idly she mused that she felt as if a huge weight was gone from her. 

He knew. 

This honourable man. This gentle person. This fire and brimstone force of nature who was, in reality, softer than cotton wool. 

He knew and it was okay. 

Her thoughts were broken by the sound of him entering the room with a tray. 

He was fully dressed, confusingly, in his work suit, his tie slung unfastened beneath his collar.  
How long had she slept? Wasn't it Sunday? 

"Morning love." 

As she sat up, the question written on her brow, he set the tray across her knees. 

Tea, fresh fruit. Toast and marmalade. 

"What's all this?" 

Perching himself on the edge of the bed, he tried his best to look contrite. 

"I've got to go into work.....only for a couple of hours.....so I've made you breakfast in bed. You're to eat it and lie in.....or do whatever you want.....I'll be back before you know it. Will you stay though? Please?" 

Liv rubbed the sleep from her eyes. 

"That's so lovely. Thank you so much Malcolm. And yes, I'll stay." 

Seemingly satisfied, he smiled contentedly. 

Standing up, he crossed to the mirror and fastened his tie, knotting it with practised movements as she watched him, a wry grin on her face. 

It amused her that he felt he should dress in his workaday clothes, even though the office would be empty and no one would see him. 

When he was done he returned to the bedside, leaning over her. 

The kiss he gave her was warm, intense. Heavy with meaning. 

"Make yourself at home. Do whatever you want, be nosy, I don't care. I don't have secrets from you. I promise I'll not be long, and it would be wonderful to know you'll be here when I get back....." 

He was so pleased when she smiled back at him. 

"I feel like a princess! No one has ever brought me breakfast in bed before." 

"Enjoy it. Be lazy. I've only got to sort out a cock up that Ollie has made with a press article, and I'm better doing it at my desk than anywhere else. I'll be as quick as I can." 

"Ok Malcolm. It doesn't matter. I'll be fine. See you later......and thank you......." 

"For the breakfast?" 

"No! For last night. You were wonderful. I love you." 

His face coloured scarlet. The grin which flashed across it almost childlike. Scrunching his nose. 

"I love you too." 

She listened as the front door closed behind him. Settling herself back into the pillows. 

For the first time in a very long time, probably ever, she felt the truth of those words. 

She was in love. 

She was loved in return.


	26. Chapter Twenty-Six.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liv is alone in Malcolm's house. She finds something interesting. 
> 
> She also finds that honesty sometimes hurts, and it works two ways......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now.....Malcolm's house.....
> 
> I've mentioned it before, but since beginning to write this story I now know the exact location of the house used for filming.  
> The person to whom it belonged commented on an online post, so I was able to track it down.  
> It is in a very smart area of Kensington. W10. One of the prime residential location addresses in London.  
> On today's market it would be worth in the region of a cool £2.75/3 million.  
> It has four bedrooms. Sadly there is no layout of the house but its specifications are given and it's a goldmine of information.  
> This prompted me to go back to the interior shots and look at them again. With clear screenshots I can see several book and DVD titles, and these are all used in this chapter. Plus the bric-a-brac on the shelves and the other things in the rooms you can briefly see in camera shot.  
> Now I realise this makes me a sad individual but I'm nothing if not thorough in my research!!!
> 
>  
> 
> It gives another perspective on Malcolm. He must be an astute business man. He clearly has made some lucrative investments. He's looking to the future.  
> Kensington is an affluent area, full of high earning professionals. The area for filming would have been chosen for a reason. Malcolm Tucker may come from humble origins, but he's made it as far as coming up in the world is concerned. 
> 
> The Anglers in Teddington is a real place.
> 
> All the information about Nicola Murray and Ben Swain is canon to the show.
> 
> Malcolm was more than aware of Nicola Murray's failings, of that I'm certain. But he couldn't possibly have supported Miller, knowing that Steve Fleming was behind him.  
> I think he could easily have predicted she would one day be the engineer of his downfall.  
> All this would have happened in the two years hiatus between when we leave Series Three and before we return for Series Four.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX. 

 

 _“You may not remember the time you let me go first._  
_Or the time you dropped back to tell me it wasn't that far to go._  
_Or the time you waited at the crossroads for me to catch up._  
_You may not remember any of those, but I do and this is what I have to say to you:_  
_Today, no matter what it takes,_  
_we ride home together.”_  
― Brian Andreas, Traveling Light: Stories & Drawings for a Quiet Mind

 

...........

 

It felt so good to laze and stretch out. 

With a full belly she dozed. 

Waking an hour or so later to find that the early promise of sunshine had faded, and rain clouds threatened. 

Yawning, she threw back the covers. Scraping her wild hair into a bun and hunting for something to wear. 

Sliding back the door of Malcolm's wardrobe, she found everything inside neatly hanging; smart suits, shirts, casual trousers. A set of shelves to one side with jumpers, T shirts and such, all folded in perfect order. 

His robe hung there, and this she chose.  
It was far too large for her, the sleeves coming down over her hands, but she folded them back and tied it in tight at the waist.  
His scent was on it, she inhaled deeply. 

Malcolm had told her to be nosy which wasn't in her nature at all.  
But she did peep inside a couple of drawers. 

Cuff links, tie pins, socks. Underwear. All pretty standard. 

Huffing at herself for prying, she made her way downstairs. 

The two distinct reception areas in Malcolm's home both possessed their own charms. 

The front room had the advantage of a lovely bay window, it's original Edwardian fireplace with tiled back and ornate mantle. Malcolm liked to work there, and to this end he had a small computer desk set up.  
Here was also a small sofa and a dining area, where he would mainly entertain, (not that he entertained often).  
It was where she, Pat and Sam had eaten when Malcolm was ill.  
She was intrigued by the music stand, because it sported a musical score for beginners clarinet.  
Surely he was not part of a jazz trio in his spare time?  
Curiouser and curiouser.  
On closer scrutiny however, she found it to be marked 'Katie' in a childish hand. 

His main living area at the back was spacious and airy. The large skylight which ran along the entire right hand side, compensated for the slightly lower ceiling in the rest of the room, flooding the area with light.

The whole back wall was in fact a sliding patio door with vertical blinds and muslin style curtains. These could be opened fully and led out into a small courtyard garden, where one could sit in summer or have a barbecue. There was no lawn. Just paving, and terracotta pots containing rather nondescript plants. 

This room housed the large pale sofa and two enormous brown leather armchairs placed either side of a glass topped coffee table.  
Liv wondered if these items were from Malcolm's marital home, but it seemed to her unlikely that he would keep anything much from those days. 

The most interesting of his possessions were on the shelves. There were actually two sets. A small pine affair next to the kitchen, and the fitted units that spanned the entire left hand wall, which also comprised deep drawers and cupboards, plus housing for TV, DVD and audio equipment. 

Making herself a coffee, she perused the spines of his books for some time, her cup cradled in her palms.....

 _'War and Peace.'_......really? 

Several tomes on financial and money matters. 

_"Traded Options'. 'Miller's Guide to the Financial Markets.' 'Projections in Stocks and Shares.' 'Financial Manual.' 'Stock Index Options.'_

There were some which she would perhaps have expected to see. By well respected journalists. Autobiographies mainly.  
Chief amongst these _'Kate Adie.'_ and _'Alan Rusbridger.'_

Also some volumes which were more of a surprise. 

_'Albert, the Prince Consort.' 'The Duke of Windsor.' 'Monarchy in Power.' 'The Fall of the Third Reich.'_ and _'British Greats.'_

Liv hummed to herself. 

What a man of contradictions Malcolm was! 

His DVD collection was equally as eclectic. 

_'Shaun of the Dead.' 'Citizen Kane.' Titanic'_.......Titanic? Yep. It was there. Liv found herself smiling at the thought of him watching it. _'Shawshank Redemption.'_ and _'Layer Cake.'_ were also present. 

It was also clear that he was something of a magpie when it came to objets d'art. 

On her very first visit to his home she had tried not to be too obvious in her examination of his stuff.  
Now, however, she was at her leisure. 

As well as the little wire stick figures she'd spotted before, there were also several curious ceramic pieces.  
A little dish in white porcelain, another in red. A (presumably) faux jade egg, smooth and polished. Large grey stone masks with carvings upon them. Two old reclaimed hurricane lanterns. Just an uncoordinated, unpretentious collection of bits and pieces he'd obviously picked up in various places on his travels. 

Wandering through to the kitchen to make more coffee she examined the childish paintings and crayonings fixed to the kitchen units.  
_'To Uncle Malcolm love from Katie and Ben.'_  
There were quite a few, but none recent. 

Here and there were also postcards stuck with blu-tac, and just inside the kitchen wall, a cork board filled to bursting with post-it notes carrying reminders, press clippings, takeaway menus, cards for taxi cabs and all the things which people ordinarily hang on to in case they may one day come in useful. 

Elsewhere on the walls were a few rather nice pictures. Abstracts mainly. One on either side of the door through to the hallway, and a few more in the front room.  
His taste was not dissimilar to her own. 

Olivia's little tour of Malcolm's abode had taken almost an hour, she yawned, glancing at the clock, idly wondering how much longer he might be.  
It was now raining hard. It wasn't until she walked to the back window to look out into the garden, that she spotted the photo albums.  
They were right at the far end of the shelves.  
Behind the flowering orchid. 

She could tell they were old, even as she pulled them out to examine them more closely. 

The kind of album which had a Perspex leaf to peel back, stick the photos in then replace the transparent layer over them. A new innovation at the time, dispensing with the old fashioned and rather fiddly individual photo corners.  
Over the decades the adhesive part had ceased to be viable, making all the snaps slide out as she opened the pages. 

Lowering her backside into one of the large armchairs with her prize, she settled herself, legs curled beneath her, to scrutinise the contents. 

Olivia was instantly mesmerised. 

What she had discovered was a treasure trove. 

Three dog eared volumes. 

Probably remaining unopened for many years. 

Each precious page a moment captured, a memory frozen forever in a single heartbeat. 

Liv swallowed, finding herself inexplicably overwhelmed with emotion. 

Here was Malcolm's early life, laid out before her in microcosm.

A Malcolm she did not know and had never seen. Would never see in real life. 

Beginning in black and white, the type of small snap which came perhaps from a Box Brownie, loaded with Kodak 120 reel film.  
An old fashioned sprung pram which sported a fringed canopy, in a grubby street. Made somehow more ancient by dint of the fact there was no colour. Behind, a tatty tenement block.  
A baby, perhaps six months old, held by a pretty young woman wearing a print dress and bolero jacket, with kitten heel shoes. Her hair piled up, popper beads around her neck.  
Taken, she guessed, at the arse end of the fifties. 

The child was unmistakably Malcolm. Chubby little face, hands held out towards the photographer. 

The next, the tables turned, now the bairn cuddled by a tall lean man in flannels and a tweedy jacket, whilst the camera was clearly held by his mother. He was exactly the same height and build then as his son grew to be. A fag dangling from one corner of his mouth. Older than his years, as people tended to look in those days. 

Liv turned the pages gingerly, as if they were the Dead Sea Scrolls. Carefully replacing the snaps that had fallen loose in the places she could see they came from. The edges tinged yellow, indicating each original placement. 

A little boy with a mop of unruly hair, wee cotton shorts fastened at the waist by a snake belt and lace up plimsolls. No socks. A hole in his jumper. Dirty knees.  
Next to him, a girl, no more than a toddler, curly fair haired and smiling toothily.  
Malcolm's arm protectively around her shoulder.  
There were several others of the two of them. Playing in the street. Holding hands as they ran. On the swings in a park somewhere. At the seaside with tin buckets and wooden spades. 

It was like looking at a bygone era. A time so long ago, and yet in reality, it was less than fifty years. 

This little boy. Perhaps six years old. Squinting at the camera. Standing a little awkwardly. Now with a 'real man's' haircut. Shaved short at the sides around his ears, and longer on top. An attempt at a side parting which had failed miserably. 

After a few pages, the pictures changed to colour. Although a faded, sun bleached hue which was so reminiscent of the sixties.  
Now the four were pictured as a proud family outside a smarter looking semi. A 1930's style with a fenced garden and a porch over the front door. 

As a youngster of eight or nine on his bike, a red one. The little blonde lass not far behind with her dolly's pram, the doll in question held under her arm by its neck. 

Over the page, suddenly the boy seemed to have been stretched.  
Malcolm turned gangly. All legs and hair. Startlingly handsome in his best wide flares and platform soles. Checked Ben Sherman shirt and a tank top.  
His sister, as the younger girl clearly was, in red dungarees and a canary yellow shirt with a ridiculously large spaniel ear collar and fold back cuffs. A feathered hair style. 

Liv set the first album aside with a smile. 

The second volume began around the late seventies she guessed. He must have been a student. Were those leather trousers? Good god! 

Fashions in the seventies really were shite! 

His face was so open and mirthful. Dark eyebrows almost joining at the bridge of his nose. 

Sharp and angular he was now, wearing jeans.  
Standing in a group of similar looking young guys. Mucking around and pulling faces. Arms carelessly around each other's shoulders. 

One was taken in a bar or club, holding up their pints. Dozens of empties on the table around them. Testament to their heavy consumption. Looking completely rat arsed. Bleary and boozy.  
When pubs were made purely for drinking in. The Public Bar and the Saloon Bar. Everyone seemed to be smoking, the ceiling patina mostly nicotine. 

Some snaps taken in London, with the Houses of Parliament in the background. How prophetic! Wearing a black tartan lined bomber jacket, jeans and boots. Hands in pockets, much as he did now. 

He looked so young. So carefree. 

Her eyes filled with tears. 

Here was a page with his parents, who were now older, plumper, more grey. His arms wrapped around his mother. Tinsel Christmas tree in the background which had seen better days. 

The last page showed a green news reporter. Dressed in a suit, his press badge prominently displayed. Perhaps 21. Just starting out. Looking a little more serious now, but still full of life. 

The last picture, by itself on the page. Standing at an unnamed family wedding with his sibling. Now a willowy young woman of nineteen maybe, with very long hair. 

This single picture seemed to mark an ending. Or perhaps a beginning, it was tinged with melancholy somehow. 

The third album was significantly more recent than the other two. The leaves more pristine. 

Another wedding. His sister. Malcolm standing proudly next to the bride with a carnation in his lapel.  
Another of him shaking the hand of his new brother-in-law. 

Parents, looking older again. His father painfully gaunt and thin.  
Other family members hugging or patting each other on the back.  
Malcolm's hair brown, thick and wavy. 

God! He looked edible! 

On to the next page. 

A baby cradled in Malcolm's arms. Standing at the font. His own mother beside him. She looked lost somehow. Alone. No sign of Malcolm's father. Her eyes far away in another place and another time. She was smiling, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. 

Two small toddlers now. Their familial resemblance to Malcolm himself quite clear to see. 

A little boy and girl. Handsome kids. Both fair. 

Their mother, Malcolm's sister, looking more like her own mother now she was mature. Her own mother who was now also starkly absent from the photographs. 

Various Christmases. 

Malcolm and her, at her home, laughing together. 

Him kneeling on the floor with the two kiddies held close to him. Smiling. 

Again her heart gave a lurch. 

Because he looked pretty much as he did now. Perhaps a tad less salt and pepper hair. But otherwise could have been taken last week. 

Turning the page slowly she found the next verso empty. And the next. And the next. 

Clearly there had once been snaps here. Their tell tale marks still plain to see. 

All the remaining pages were empty. 

It was as if life suddenly ceased. 

Olivia was overcome with sadness. 

Standing, she gathered the albums together and went to replace them where she'd found them. 

It was then she discovered, right at the back in the gap where they'd been, a single photo lodged. 

Obviously it had fallen from one of the pages. Reaching her fingers in, she retrieved it, meaning to place it back in its allotted spot. 

Staring down at it closely. 

It was of Malcolm, perhaps only a few years ago. His arms around a woman. 

A coldness settled over her heart as she examined it minutely. 

On holiday she guessed. The background spoke of the Mediterranean. 

Malcolm in a short sleeved shirt and loose fitting trousers. His face was one of utter bliss. A face she'd never ever seen.  
His eyes danced with merriment, his smile crinkling his nose and showing his teeth. Snuggled into her side. On the hand which held her shoulder so endearingly, a gold wedding band. 

The band he still wore. 

The woman was brunette. Shorter styled hair than her own, taller than she was, and rather stunning to look at. Blue eyes, fair skin. Slim.  
Immaculately dressed, with a floaty scarf around her neck. A wide brimmed hat and sunglasses in her hand. 

Clearly they'd asked someone to take the picture, a stranger, so Malcolm looked slightly self conscious. 

Leaning in, holding her close. The same protective stance she saw in the earliest black and white photo with his young sister. 

The same way he held her sometimes. 

The image had a profound effect upon Liv. 

She felt as if she were encroaching on a private moment. A voyeur. An interloper who had interrupted their happiness. 

Perhaps it was their honeymoon. Newly weds. It wasn't clear. 

All she knew was that she felt she shouldn't have seen it. 

Malcolm had clearly decided at some point that this part of his life should be expunged. 

Again she was seeing a Malcolm she didn't know. In many ways he wasn't the same man as when this picture was taken.  
She would argue he was probably better.  
Wiser certainly. 

Tucking the picture into the third album she replaced it hurriedly and returned to the couch. 

Switching on the TV. An ancient black and white film. 'Gaslight' made in 1944. With a luminescent Ingrid Bergman, a wickedly malevolent Charles Boyer, and a very young, but instantly recognisable Angela Lansbury.

A story of control and manipulation which struck a cord. 

She tried to watch. 

But try as she might, she couldn't shake that photograph out of her head. 

oOo

It was late morning when Malcolm let himself back into his home. 

The sight which met his eyes on entering caused a lump in his throat. 

The television was playing quietly. 

Liv lay on his sofa amongst the cushions, her legs curled up at the knee. 

Wearing his robe, which seemingly engulfed her, it was as if she were being slowly consumed by it, disappearing inside, only her head and neck still visible. 

Deeply asleep. 

For some moments he stood, looking down at her. 

After last night she seemed peaceful. The face that had been so careworn, now free of furrows. 

Kneeling beside her he touched her arm gently. 

"Hey! Sleepy." 

Her eyes opened slowly, and a wonderful thing happened. She broke into the warmest smile at the sight of him.  
Reaching up, her arms around his neck. 

"You're back!" She breathed, and kissed him. 

Malcolm felt his heart might burst asunder. 

Tapping her legs so that she would swing them down, he planted himself next to her. 

"So! What have you been up to while I was gone?" 

She snuggled into his side, still dozy. 

"Looking at your books, your DVD's......and I found your photo albums." The last part was said tentatively, watching to see his reaction. 

To her surprise, he laughed. 

"Christ! Bet that was an eye opener." He said. 

"It certainly was! You were the most adorable baby. And your hair! You really should let it grow longer Malcolm!"

Liv wasn't sure whether or not to mention the photo with his ex wife. She decided, in a split second, that she would not. 

"Oh God! I've forgotten what was even in those albums. I haven't looked at them for donkey's years."

"I assumed the little girl is your sister? You look alike." 

"Yeah. Kathy. She's two and a half years younger than me." 

"You never mention her......why not?" 

"I dunno. Never came up I suppose." He hedged, now shifting uncomfortably.

"Lovely kids too. Your niece and nephew?" 

"Katie and Ben. They are older now of course, ten and eight." 

"Why don't you see them Malc?" 

"You know why....." 

Liv raised her eyebrows in mute question. 

"......because I can't let two vulnerable youngsters have a fucking drunk for an uncle can I?"

"But Malcolm.....you'd been dry for three years up until the other week." 

"I know. But then I wasn't! Anyway, once I'd made the break it became harder and harder to be in contact again. I kept putting it off, then I became less and less likely to rekindle the relationship. I talk to Kathy from time to time, but she's a bit, well......offish with me." 

"I'm not surprised if you cut them off like that! She's family, she must have been very hurt." 

Malcolm huffed with annoyance, pulling away from her side. 

"I need a coffee. What one?" He asked, petulantly. 

Instead of replying Liv grabbed his hand. Staying his movement. 

"Hang on! So you're going to sulk now? Because I've told you the truth? Would you rather I lie to you and say, 'it's okay Malcolm, go ahead and cut yourself off from people who love you'?"

He huffed again. 

"If you ask for honesty Malc, you have to be prepared to hear it. So! Truth. I think you should contact your sister, see the children. Spend time with them. Be their Uncle again. I'm sure they love you very much and want to be in your life." 

The eyes which looked at hers were damp. 

"It's far more complicated than that. You don't know all the circumstances. In fact you don't know what you're fucking talking about. " He snapped. "Your honesty is too simplistic and sometimes brutal." 

"I guess so. But it's meant well, and sometimes things really are that simple."

Malcolm laughed cruelly. 

"Well I have some honesty for you.....I've been thinking about it all morning. Since last night.....your ex......" 

He saw her eyes widen and her eyebrows lift.

"......he should be reported. You should go to the police over what he did to you." 

"I won't ever do that." She replied quietly. 

"Why not?" 

"Because I want to move on. I want to forget about my marriage and live again. No good can come from raking up all the shit. I need to put it all behind me." 

"I understand that Liv. But what if he does the same to someone else? Have you thought of that?" 

Angrily, she stood up. Walking away from him, before spinning round to face him, her eyes feral. 

"Fucking hell Malcolm. Of course I have! I'm sorry, but you can't possibly understand. And to plant that guilt thing upon me? Fuck off! I have no obligation to ANYONE! Only myself. It's taken me two years to even come as far as I have now. So don't you fucking stand there and pontificate about what I should and shouldn't do. You're not in my position. Okay?" 

Malcolm remained completely calm. He laid his now healed hand on her arm. 

"But isn't that the very thing you've just done to me?" He responded gently. 

Her mouth opened to fire off another volley, then snapped shut like a trap. 

"You see?" He continued. "Honesty. Sometimes it hurts." 

Head in her hands in exasperation. Of course he was right. On both counts. 

"You don't have to go to the police Liv." He continued softly. "Of course you don't. You must do whatever you think is best to help yourself to move forward. But you must know.....it's _not_ that fucking simple. Things aren't. Just as I'll contact my sister and the weans when I feel able and the time is right. Okay? Now c'mere to me....." he held out his arms to her. 

She moved into him rapidly. Pinning herself close to his chest. 

Hugging her whilst she wore his robe was like cuddling a teddy bear. He kissed the top of her head tenderly. 

"Let's not let this spoil our Sunday sweetheart. Eh? Let's find a nice quiet place for some Sunday lunch, or a walk perhaps." 

She sniffled into his shirt. 

"It's fucking raining." She said, her words muffled against him. 

"We've got coats!" 

Pulling away, she looked up into his face. 

"I'm sorry." She whispered tearfully. 

"So am I. Let's agree that neither of our lives are just fixable in one fell swoop and forget it shall we? And hey.....don't you want to hear about my morning?" 

"What's to tell?" 

"Nope! You'll not wheedle it out of me! I'll tell you over a nice roast dinner in a cosy pub somewhere."

"Fair enough." She tried a small smile, and received a warm kiss for her pains. 

She suddenly realised that Malcolm's kisses were the probably most welcome thing in her entire life. 

oOo

The inclement weather kept the punters away.

Malcolm had found a nice inn near Teddington Lock. 

A short tube ride from South Kensington to Wimbledon on the district line, then change to the South Western railway, alighting in the pouring rain at Teddington station, followed by a short brisk walk under a shared umbrella, to The Anglers, where he'd booked them a table. 

In fine Spring weather the place would normally be packed, inside and out, but today in the damp grey gloom it was quiet. 

The couple were shown to their quiet window seat, looking out over the Lock itself and the river Thames, which was tidal up to this point.  
A few brightly coloured narrow boats were there. Moored up, hoping for a change in the weather. Some stately swans cruised effortlessly by. The rain didn't much bother them. 

Malcolm's hands were cold. His hair flat, dampened against his head. He shivered as they shucked off their soggy coats and sat down. 

"Can I get you some drinks?" The server came over, pad in hand. 

"Coffee for me please. Nice and hot." He requested, rubbing both palms together.

"You don't want something stronger....keep out the chill?" The waitress asked good naturedly. 

"No, coffee is fine." Malcolm responded tersely. 

She turned to Liv. 

"I'll have the same please." 

Once she'd left them to settle themselves and peruse the menus, Liv reached across the table and took his icy fingers in her own. 

"This place is nice. How did you find it?" 

"Sam's recommendation. She came here with her new fella a while back." 

"Ah. James. Have you met him? He sounds nice." 

Malcolm shook his head. 

"We don't really mix work with leisure. It's not the way I operate." 

Liv smiled knowingly. 

"So, come on, what's this big 'thing' from this morning that you couldn't possibly tell me right away?" 

"Oh, that! It's about the candidates for the Leadership post. Tom's replacement." 

Their coffees arrived, they ordered their lunch. 

Two roast beefs with Yorkshire pudding. 

"Well, there's been a development." Malcolm continued. 

"Oh? Sounds intriguing." 

"It was my fear that the only credible adversary to Dan Miller would turn out to be Ben Swain."

"Oh for fucks sake! He's a moron!" 

"Yeah, well. Tom liked him. Made him Minister of State in the Education department, and in Immigration for a time."

"Yes, but surely being a Cabinet Minister in one of the lesser departments doesn't necessarily qualify him for leadership? He's as dense as a fog in November and has all the charisma of a stale doughnut." 

"He actually has more experience than Miller. At least he's held two Ministerial posts. Dan was only a Junior Minister, and a poor one at that." 

"Yes. But for some reason The Party favour him. I don't get it. He reminds me of an oil slick."

"That'll be Fleming's influence." 

"Now _that_ man is a slimy bugger. A human slug."

Malcolm laughed. 

"You don't know the half!" 

Their food arrived. Malcolm gazed in dismay at the enormous plateful. 

Roast beef, roast potatoes, cauliflower cheese, carrots, parsnips, broccoli and a Yorkshire the size of a small sailing craft, all liberally smothered in thick gravy.

"Christ! How am I supposed to wade through this lot?" 

Liv laughed. 

"You won't need to eat again till Wednesday!" 

Arming himself with cutlery as if about to go into battle, Malcolm set to. 

"Anyway.....what I was saying.....?"

"You were telling me. Blinky Ben......" 

"Right, well, he has a hate hate relationship with Nicola Murray." 

"You mean Nicola 'former Secretary of State for Social Affairs and Citizenship' Murray? The one everyone describes as 'the bungalow'?" 

"The bungalow?" Malcolm looked confused. 

"Yeah. Nothing up top." She tapped the side of her head to illustrate. 

He laughed heartily at the accuracy of the description. 

"Yeah. Her." 

"Why don't she and Ben get on?" 

Malcolm waved his knife as if he were stabbing at an assailant. 

"Because she had him fucking sacked from DoSaC, way back. When he was still a Junior Minister. They've circled each other with evil intent ever since." 

"I see. What of her?" 

"Well, I suspect she's thinking of standing." 

"Really?" 

"Yes. And if she does, she could well be the person who divides the other voters and ends up sneaking it. On a technicality so to speak." 

"Fucking hell, Malcolm. She'd be a fucking car crash. She's no Maggie Thatcher, who the fuck would vote for her? In the country I mean.....the electorate. No one even knows who she is. Let alone what she might stand for. She's a nonentity, a vacuum, a blank space." 

"Well. My spidey sense tells me she could end up as Leader of the Opposition......and my spidey sense is seldom wrong." 

Liv swallowed her mouthful. She knew how astute Malcolm was. His vast knowledge of the workings of government and the machinations therein were legendary.  
If anyone could predict an outcome it was he. 

"So you would be working directly for her? As Media Advisor? You'd effectively be the protective screen between her and the media jackals?" 

"That's about the size of it." 

"Fucking hell Malcolm. Good luck with that then! It'll be like a gladiator going into the arena to fight the lions armed only with a catapult." 

Pushing his half eaten dinner away with a sigh. Malcolm sat back in his chair with a puff. 

"She and I have unfinished business." He said coldly. 

"What do you mean?" 

"The day I was sacked, she had the chance to speak up for me. She didn't. She pleaded that she was only a Minister, turned tail and ran down the corridor as if she were a mangy fox with fifty beagles on her heels. Pissing herself all the way. She fucking screwed me over." 

"But she didn't celebrate after you'd gone. Not like Cullen and that prick Reader did." 

"No. But there's a distinct difference there. She was suddenly afraid that they'd just removed the one umbrella she could hide behind who could be guaranteed to keep her safe from the press. Reader, on the other hand, is just a jumped up little squirt who wants my job. He's not about Party loyalty, he's about blowing his own trumpet. As for Cullen, he just wants to run with the in crowd. Borne out by the fact he scurried straight to Kenyon and co when the shit hit the fan after the Election." 

"You lay your nuts on the line for these people on a daily basis. Yet they'd stab you in the back at the first opportunity. How on earth do you keep going?" 

Malcolm smiled slightly, giving a shrug. 

"Loyalty I suppose. And the misguided hope that I can do some good." 

"So you'll champion Murray?" 

"For the time being, yes. My instinct is to go with Miller. But to back a person who is associated with Steve Fucking Fleming is against everything I know to be sane. It rather poke out my eyes with a bent stick. I know that as soon as he's leader, it'll be cards for me. Sayonara baby. I've a feeling it's going to be an uphill task to make something of Nicola, but, if she wins, I'll have to do my best. I don't really have a choice. It's either ally myself to her as the poor but only substitute, or commit political suicide with Miller and the cabal. Christ knows what I can do with her. She's hopelessly inept at best, indecisive, rubbish at public speaking....everything you need in a good Captain. But for the good of the Party I'll help her. Until she does something monumentally stupid that is. Then I'll strip her bare and fuck her up the arse just like she did to me." 

Liv grimaced at the graphic picture he created. 

Malcolm fell silent. Brooding over his plate, his jaw working as if he were still chewing. 

"It seems to me that there's no winning either way. It doesn't sound very promising I must say." 

"She might win over the voting public on the strength of her 'married with family' packet. Making her seem dependable. Stable. You know. The 'housewife, mother of four, working woman' angle. I suppose that might work. Although my intelligence is that her husband is a twat, her children are spoilt brats and she's not particularly happy in wedlock. But I'll have to do my research on that one." 

"God! What a horrible thing. To be scrutinised like that. I feel sorry for her children." 

Her dining companion gave a deep sigh. 

"I've a feeling she's going to be my nemesis. Call it intuition, but I think I'll probably end up with my balls in a vice. Or at the very least be on the front page of the Sun with them hanging out." 

Reaching across the void between them, she took his hand. 

"Let's go home. I'm in carb coma, I want to stretch out and veg out. I may even have an afternoon nap. How does that sound to you?" 

"It sounds like heaven. I'll get the bill."


	27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm is at work. Bored shitless. 
> 
> Liv is meeting Fiona for lunch. 
> 
> The two come together for a very competitive evening!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a scene in TTOI, the one where Malcolm speaks to Ollie about Star Wars. It takes place in a cafe and Malcolm tells him how he's been bored shitless for two years.  
>   
>    
> I'm guessing that this boredom is reflected in Peter's performance in those early episodes of series four. Like the 'baby horse is a foal' scene, where he's slumped in his chair. Or the 'quiet bat people' day. He looks as if he just can't be arsed. Almost sleepy. Lethargic.  
> So I'm playing heavily on that pre Star Wars scene and the two years of stultifying tedium he's obviously going to go through, a stark change from the humdrum life of being in power. 
> 
> 'Ye Olde Cheddar Cheese' is a real place. It's a survivor of a bygone age. 
> 
> The Scrabble scene came to me on a whim, and the whole thing was written straight out almost without any drafting. I wish it always happened like that.  
> They are drawing closer. They want more. But can Liv cope with it?

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN. 

 

 _“We had grown into one another somewhere along the way. We were officially a team.”_  
― Shannon A. Thompson, Take Me Tomorrow

.............

 

Malcolm sat in his high backed chair, or rather, he slumped. 

He was tired. 

It wasn't the kind of tired he'd experienced before, it was a creeping lethargy. 

The desk in front of him was littered with newspapers. The morning editions of each publication. 

Headlines heralding a new era for the Party, but in various tones. 

Most were asking just who this new leader was. 

What did she stand for? Or against? 

She was an unknown quantity. 

Malcolm's takeaway coffee was cold. 

He found himself staring at the wall opposite, or at his screen in front of him. Not really seeing. 

His hand folded beneath one cheek as a prop, effectively holding up the weight of his own head. 

Just stopping short of picking his nose. 

A sigh left him as Sam walked in. 

Standing on the far side of the desk, she regarded him for a few moments, as if working out in her mind what to say. 

Languidly, he raised his eyes to meet hers. 

"I'm bored." He stated, tonelessly. 

"Already?" Her riposte was clipped. "Good God Malcolm. Is this what it's going to be like? Where's the fire? Where's the engine? Where's the real Malcolm Tucker, and what have you done with him?" 

"He's naked, gagged and bound and in my fucking basement." He replied, his eyes twinkling. 

Sam drew up a chair and sat down opposite him. 

"So! Nicola Murray! One hell of a task ahead eh?" 

Her boss puffed, as if too much energy was required to even answer. 

"I'm used to the maelstrom Sam. Number 10. I'm used to dealing with the piranhas of the press, snapping and biting at my genitals. I'm used to having my baby monitor on full volume, listening for the sound of a minister crying, or teething, or someone who's shat themselves and needs their arse wiped and a clean nappy on. My daily dose of civil servants who couldn't organise a 'ging-gang-goolie' in a Girl Guide camp. What the fuck am I going to do?" 

His PA gave a withering look. 

"Well, stop feeling sorry for yourself for a start! What's happened has happened. Nothing can change the election result and nothing can alter the leadership vote. No fabulous politically astute _wunderkind_ came out of the woodwork at the final hour to save you. So! You've got Nicola. For better or worse. For richer for poorer.....in sickness and in health. You've just got to damn well get on with it." 

"Fuck my life!" 

"Changing the subject slightly.....how's things with Liv?" 

Malcolm's eyes hardened. His face changing. This was not work related. This was personal. Did he talk to Sam about personal stuff now?  
He didn't remember that becoming a thing. 

"What's that got to do with anything?" He hedged. 

"Nothing whatever. But we're friends now, we chat. We meet up for coffee, shopping, stuff like that. So....I just wondered....." 

Two arched eyebrows were his initial response.

"Does she talk about me?" 

"Sometimes. We talk about all sorts." 

"Fucking hell. You women and your gossip....." 

Sam folded her arms over her chest crossly. 

"We DO NOT gossip! We talk about our day, what we've been doing. Our plans in the future weeks, all kinds of things. Of course your name comes up.....so does James's. It's called conversation Malcolm. And do you and I not know each other well enough now, bearing in mind I've helped to wash you and seen you in your undies?" 

Malcolm's face turned to a delicate shade of scarlet. 

"Fucking hell Sam." 

Her smile was warm. 

She still hadn't told him the full story. That she had in fact seen him in the buff. In all his glory. 

"It's okay Malcolm, your secrets are quite safe with me. So....you and Liv?"

The hand that supported his head was run upwards and through his hair, making it look like downy fluff. 

"We're good." 

"Just good?" 

"What the fuck do you want me to say?" 

"I don't know Malcolm. I just wanted to know that you were ok. You seemed so down." 

"I'm down about being here. In this shit hole. Not about me and Liv." 

"Oh. Well. That's alright then. I was worried, that's all."

"It's going to be my end Sam. I can feel it. Something is in the air. I don't know what it is. But I've got to think about the future. What I'm going to do. This here is a finite situation. Fuck knows, but it scares me shitless." 

"You've got Olivia now Malcolm. That's all you need. Whatever happens in this dump is not important at the end of the day. The two of you will make it, I can feel it, just as you feel the sense of impending doom. Meanwhile, we have to soldier on. Nothing more we can do." 

"I love her." 

It was a statement so simply made. A fact. 

Rising, Sam came around the desk and squeezed his shoulder firmly. 

"That's all you need. No matter what else transpires. Embrace it Malc. With her you have a real chance. She'll be the making of you.....of your life.....I know it." 

There was nothing further to add, and so, gathering the dirty cups and sandwich wrappers from her employer's desk, she made to leave. 

"She's all I ever really wanted." He said quietly as she reached the door. 

"I know." 

The door swung to behind her. 

oOo

It was an extremely blustery day. 

The wind whistled around the buildings in the City, forming little pockets and eddies which caught the unsuspecting commuter by surprise.  
One moment the sun was shining almost blindingly, the next, a squally shower would hit almost without warning.  
Dozens of discarded umbrellas stood upright and forlorn in the bins. Their metal spokes bent out of all recognition. As, hit by a freak blast they were whisked inside out and buffeted into oblivion like the unwanted nannies in Mary Poppins. 

Liv kept her head down and her coat held tight in her fist, tucked under her chin, as she walked briskly down Fleet Street. 

Ducking into an almost unwalked narrow alleyway she opened the small oaken door which lead into 'Ye Olde Cheddar Cheese'. One of the oldest surviving establishments inside the original city boundaries.  
Rebuilt shortly after the Great Fire in 1666, a hostelry had been on the site since at least the reign of Henry VIII and although there were older pubs in London, those which escaped the fire having been made of stone, this particular inn was certainly the most atmospheric. 

Inside it seemed gloomy, with low ceilings and lack of natural lighting. But Liv thought it wonderfully cosy. 

In winter there were always log fires in the hearths, and since the banning of smoking inside, the whole place smacked of the Dickensian.  
She loved it. 

Fiona was already there. Having bagged them a table in the corner. 

Her friend rose and gave her a hug as they met. 

"You're looking a bit windswept!" She laughed. 

"Hardly surprising!" Liv countered. "You try having almost waist length hair in this hurricane." 

The two were soon ensconced together with a glass of wine each and a menu. 

"I've only got my lunch break plus a bit extra because I didn't take a break this morning. Tom said it'd be alright." She breathed, letting out a puff of air and relaxing back into the wooden bench seat. 

"Tom been okay then has he?" 

"He's been all sweetness and light!" 

"That's because he still fancies you and hopes he's still in with a chance." 

"No. It was because Malcolm had him by the bollocks and he was shitting himself." 

Fiona laughed heartily. 

"What the hell did he do to him?" 

"Nothing whatever. But he was promoted to Wendy's position and Malcolm just let him know quietly that he was under his radar. That's all." 

"Where's bitch face Wendy gone then?"

"She was transferred to another department." 

"Malcolm's doing again?" 

"Well, he can't hire or fire civil servants, and he doesn't work there now of course, but I think he may have used his influence, yes." 

"Crikey! He must have got it bad! He did all that for you?" 

"Yes, I kinda think he did." Liv blushed. 

The lunch they'd ordered arrived. 

Pie and mash, with mushy peas. 

"Christ!" Liv exclaimed, surveying the plate. "This is a stomach liner and no mistake." 

"Get it down you petal! It'll do you good!" 

"I'll be asleep at my desk all afternoon!" 

As they ate, the two friends chatted amiably. 

"So. Tell me the goss! How are things between you and your man of the hour? Your prime hunk of Aberdeen Angus?" 

"He's from Glasgow." 

"Whatever!" 

"I don't think Malcolm really comes under the category of beefcake somehow." Liv remarked with a sarcastic eye roll. 

"Well maybe I was thinking more of a fat pork sausage then!" Fiona waggled her eyebrows suggestively. 

"That's gross.....even from you. Plus you're mixing your metaphors! And nothing like that has happened between us. So forget it." 

Her friend looked disappointed. 

"Beef or pork....it's all meat." She shrugged. "And _what_? No nooky? It's been ages. Don't tell me you've not yet sampled the tenderloin!" 

Liv gave a withering huff of annoyance. 

"You're disgusting, that's what you are. And no I haven't." 

A gale of laughter rippled through her companion. 

"Oh Liv. I'm only teasing you, I know how hard it must be after everything that's happened. I was only trying to lighten the mood. There's no need to be all defensive. I thought you knew me well enough to enjoy the joke." 

Swallowing her mouthful, Liv took a quaff of wine. 

"He does know everything though. I've told him. It was such a huge relief." 

Fiona raised her eyebrows again, this time in surprise. 

"Really? Wow. Big step. What did he say? How did he react?" 

Liv laid down her cutlery, her look becoming wistful. 

"He was wonderful. Really wonderful. He told me we would wait until I was comfortable. I was so thankful. Because I don't think he really understands how big a deal it is for me, but he said that he was in no hurry. That it didn't matter. Afterwards, it was like a huge weight had lifted." 

Reaching across the divide between them, Fiona squeezed her hand. 

"I'm so glad Liv. Really. I am. Perhaps he really is a gentleman after all. Maybe there are a few of them left in the world, and I'm just a cynical, judgy-wudgy old bat!" 

This time Olivia did give a chuckle in response. 

"So I'm guessing you've passed the stage of just friendship then?" 

She nodded, her smile fading slightly. 

"Yes. I'm afraid I'm in love with him. There! I said it. I didn't necessarily want to be, but I am. He's very easy to love. There's something about him. I don't even know what it is. I'm certainly not sure how it happened. It's been a gradual thing. He was ill a few weeks back, and I took care of him. I think perhaps I realised properly then. What it might be like if I lost him. If he wasn't in my life anymore. It came as a bit of a shock." 

"What about him? How does he feel?" 

"The same. At least I think.....I mean, he tells me so quite frequently. He tried to give me the chance to get out if I wanted to. I think he was scared I'd feel trapped or pressured.....or something. He wanted me to know that it wasn't too late to back away, but I knew I didn't want to. Somehow we just seem to gel together. Feel comfortable in each other's company. We've all the time in the world. He told me that anything intimate is entirely with my permission, when I'm ready, he's never once tried anything on. I trust him." 

"And do you want him like that?" 

Fiona watched the colour rise in her friend's cheeks. 

"I......I.......yes......yes I do." She stammered. "I want to know what it _should_ be like again. Like the early days when me and 'cunt face' were together. Before he saw me as his blow-up toy. I want to experience something sexual that isn't associated with fear." 

Pushing her empty plate away, her friend sat back with satisfaction, giving a little smile of encouragement. 

"And you will sweetie. I'm sure you will. If he loves you as much as he appears to, he'll make it okay for you. It's not as if he's some pimply horny teenager, I'm sure he's experienced enough to know how to handle you with care. Bless him. I'm liking him more and more by the moment." 

Liv beamed with pleasure. 

"Really?" Her face suddenly flushed and eager. 

"Really. He sounds legit Liv. A proper bloke. Fucking finally! We should have him stuffed and mounted on a fricking plinth." 

The laughter of the two women met and mingled. A pleasant hour, the warmth of the glass of wine and the tasty food.  
Both could easily have sat there all afternoon.  
Sadly however. It wasn't to be. 

Glancing at her watch Liv squeaked. 

"Blimey! Is that the time? I have to go!" 

Her friend giggled. 

"You'll be fine, plenty of time to get back. You won't even have to run. It's been so nice Liv.....and I'm so happy for you. Genuinely. The only question now is, when do I get to meet him?" 

"Soon." A grin and a wink. " I want to do a dinner....for Sam and James....that's Malc's PA who is so lovely and her boyfriend, and for Pat, Malcolm's best mate, and for you. But I haven't mentioned it yet.....so watch this space.....soon.....I promise. Now I really must dash!" 

oOo

...... _Friday night_......

 

"You're sneaking crafty peeps at my fucking letters!" He shielded his tile stand with both hands like a petulant child. 

"Malcolm! Seriously! I do _not_ need to cheat to beat you at Scrabble! Now for god's sake have your turn or I'll have to put you on the clock!" 

"Alright. Alright. Here you go. S.H.E.R.B.E. the R from your HEART, and T. Sherbert. Ha! Uses all my fucking letters. 50 bonus mega points to me!"

"Hold on just a cotton pickin' minute there Muskie.....that's not how you spell Sherbet. It's SHERBET. There's no second R." 

Malcolm's face creased into laughter. 

"Deputy Dawg! You just quoted Deputy Dawg at me! That's my fucking childhood right there Darling!" 

Liv tried to look stern. 

"It doesn't alter the fact that you can't spell sherbet with two R's." 

"I want a second opinion. Where's the fucking dictionary?" 

Liv rose from where she sat crossed legged on the carpet, on the other side of her coffee table from where Malcolm was perched on the sofa. 

She returned with Collins English Dictionary, which she handed him smugly. 

A box of chocolates was open between them, and his cheek was like a hamster's pouch as he chewed.  
There was no doubt that Malcolm had a sweet tooth, but one glance at the cocoa powder on his lips and chin made Liv titter with laughter. 

"Look at you truffle chops!" She scolded. "Now look up that word, and I'll bet you a tenner I'm right." 

He flicked the pages in silence, finding the page and tracing down it with one long index finger. 

"Bollocks!" He spat. 

"Told you." 

"Right, well I'll have HERB then. It's still on a double word score." 

"Okay. Fair enough. My go. So I'm going to put my Q at the front of where you put AT and make QUOTE downwards. It's on the triple letter score so I get 30 plus 4 for quote and 30 again plus 2 for QAT." 

"What the fuck?" Malcolm exploded. "What the fuck is qat? You made that up!"

"No I didn't. It's a bush, in Arabia.....you can get high on chewing the leaves. Look that one up too if you don't believe me!" 

"Oh, why am I even playing this game with you? It's ridiculous. I'm being spanked on the arse every time you take a turn....it's like you're some kind of Scrabble black belt or something." 

"That's not true. You've made some equally great words. You got AXES with the X on the double letter, then you made it into TAXES when you put down TOWEL, so you scored twice......and you got rid of all your letters with FLAPJACK using the J that I already put there, and that was on a double word as well. It's a close run thing." 

Liv was only just learning just how competitive Malcolm was. 

He was fiercely intelligent, and his word power was easily a match for her own. She knew she'd have to be on top form to stand a chance of beating him.  
The further the game progressed the longer he was taking for his turn.......

..........Tonight they were at Liv's house. 

Malcolm had been so low all week. Out of sorts. 

Empty and in dire need of her company. 

When she'd offered to make him dinner he'd readily accepted. It was her turn. The previous weekend he'd cooked paella for them, and she'd gone to his place.  
Although she hadn't stayed over, as he'd hoped she might. 

Coming home when he knew there was no one there was becoming quite an issue.  
It accentuated his solitude, made his spirits fall even lower, and made him feel more like drowning his sorrows.  
Even Pat was concerned. He recognised the signs. 

So much so that he'd sent Liv a text message to tell her of his fears.

Malcolm's private phone buzzed at 4 in the afternoon. 

_"Dinner at my place? I'm cooking that lamb dish....your favourite. Half sevenish?"_

Reading it, he smiled and texted back. 

_"Thank fuck for that. I was beginning to think you didn't love me anymore."_

_"You're a complete arse Malcolm! How about a friendly game of Scrabble afterwards? There's fuck all on telly."_

_"You're on! But I warn you...I'm a zen master. You don't stand a chance!"_

_"Now there's a challenge! See you later Malc....and bring chocolate! Xxxx"_

True to his word he was right on time. With a large box of Charbonnel truffles under his arm. 

Her greeting was something he longed for. Dreamed about, and mulled over often during the stilted boredom that was now a large part of his day.  
A warm embrace, and a long very intense kiss. 

His reaction was always the same. It began at the lips where their bodies joined. Sizzled hotly up into his head like an electric shock, and from there, spread down his chest to his stomach, whilst at the same time almost curling his toes, running back up the length of both legs and meeting right smack bang in the middle, at his groin. 

It made him dizzy, light headed, and euphoric all at the same time. Caused his heart to beat wildly against his ribs, and rendered his knees weak. 

She was looking into his face now, amusement dancing in her eyes. Her arms still around his neck. 

"Hello Malc!" She whispered. "I've missed you." 

"Fuck! Me too." He breathed. "Been looking forward to this." 

She blushed prettily. 

"So have I." She admitted. "Come on in. Food is nearly ready."

The smell from the kitchen was heavenly. It was so warm and so welcoming. 

Malcolm could feel all the stress and the anxiety falling away. Just by being there. With her. So comfortable. 

It was life........

........"Come on Malc. Hurry up. It's still your turn. Have you got a word?" 

"Aye. This fucker'll wipe the smile off your face! Well it will if it's a word, which I think it is." 

"Oh God! I'm losing the will. I'm going to make us a coffee.....want one?" 

"Yes please." 

"Do I have to take my tiles out to the kitchen with me or do I trust you not to peep?" 

"Tell you what. I'll come out there with you! I can clear the dinner plates away while you put the kettle on." 

He followed her out, walking close behind. Standing at the kitchen counter she was aware of his proximity.  
It was as if, tonight, he couldn't bear to let her out of his sight. 

"You're better now." She commented. 

"Eh?" He was scraping plates and loading the dishwasher. 

"You were so tense when you arrived. You're better now." 

"Aye." His voice seemed so small that she turned to look at him. He was standing there, feet apart, arms out. 

"Can I have a hug please?" He asked, his eyes almost pleading. 

It had become more and more easy to take that step. The step that bought her closer to him, the way his chest sank inwards as she reached him now familiar. The sensation of the breath leaving his body and his arms winding themselves around her.  
Being surrounded by the scent of his clothes and his skin. Feeling the warmth as his kiss was placed on top of her head. 

"Oh Liv." It seemed that he could barely form words suddenly. "I needed this so bad tonight." 

Pulling back she raised her chin. 

"I thought you seemed to be struggling."

"When your text came I almost wept. Truly. The thought of going home and being by myself. I'm not sure how long I can carry on in my job. It's going to kill me with forced inactivity. I can't stand it." 

He was nuzzling against her as he spoke, touching her face with his hands, sliding them down her back, then up to her shoulders. As if testing the feel of her. Revelling in this moment of being there. 

"Just doing normal stuff. Eating. Relaxing. It's just.....I dunno.....I can't......." He seemed to be losing his grip. Overwhelmed with something he could neither quantify nor understand.  
There were tears in his eyes, and a lump in his throat.  
"Don't know why it hit me so hard today. I was having bad thoughts. I felt as if there was something inside me that was causing me pain. Here." 

He held a balled fist against his chest. 

"Some days are harder than others Malcolm. We all have them. You are no different. Days when the hurdle is just a foot high and we can hop over it effortlessly, and days when it's towering over our heads and we can't possibly climb anywhere near it." 

Her hand was cupping his cheek gently, watching his glistening eyes. Searching them. 

"Those are the days when we need a text. Or an invite. Some company. It can turn them around." 

"I love being here with you. I love your cooking, I love your ideas when we stay in. If I told my sister I'd been playing Scrabble she'd piss herself laughing. But I've enjoyed it so much...." 

He was sniffing now, trying to regain control. 

"Speaking of which...." she said quietly, ".......you haven't beaten me yet......shall we finish the game? Or are you going to give up?" 

There was a tiny smidge of mirth in her tone, and a hint of challenge. Malcolm, no matter how emotional he felt, couldn't let it pass.

"Fuck no!" He grinned. "You don't get me like that! I'm going to wipe the floor with you!" 

She laughed, and raised her eyebrows archly. 

"Ooooo! Get you! Threats! I'm that scared!" She giggled. 

He clasped her into a sudden bear hug. Scrunching her against him crushingly. Rocking her from side to side. Making a growling noise in his throat. 

"Yeah!" He cackled. "You wannabe love. You won't fuck me. I've never been fucked....." 

.........

"There!" He sat back, triumphant. "'CHUTZPAH' I get 70 odd points for that if I'm not mistaken."

"Well that's it then! All she wrote! Managing to use the H from your own HERB, and the blank tile for the other one. Bloody hell Malcolm. You can go off people!" 

His clear eyes were flashing with unbridled glee. It amused her greatly to see him so pleased with himself. 

"Okay, I'll have my go, then I'm out of tiles. So we'll add up the scores." 

She put down the word. LOVE. 

"There! A fitting ending I think. Now let's see who's won." 

It was indeed close. 

Malcolm pipped her by only 10 points. But he was jubilant. Waving his arms in the air as if he'd just scored a goal for Scotland in the World Cup.  
It was a high scoring game. 

"Best evening I've had in so long." 

oOo

Curled together on the sofa. 

Liv was sleepy. But too comfortable to move. 

Malcolm's eyes were drooping too. He yawned and stretched himself. 

"It's getting late." He murmured. 

To his surprise she snuggled more tightly into his side with a little mew of protest. 

"What's this?" His arm lifted so he could lean forward to look at her. 

"Do you have to go?" She sighed. 

"Well, no......but......" he began, then seemed to be asking a question without words. She answered for him. 

"Please Malcolm. Will you stay with me tonight?" 

"Oh love.....there's nothing I'd like more, but do you just want to cuddle up? Or....?" He left the sentence hanging as his hand cupped her shoulder tenderly, keeping her close. His breathing changing slightly, as it does when one becomes suddenly afraid. 

"Take me to bed Malc.......will you.....properly?" 

"Oh sweetheart. Come here to me." 

He pulled her to him, so she was almost over his chest, their heads inches apart. 

"You're not doing this because you think it's what I want, are you?" 

Biting her lip, she shook her head to the negative. 

"I just want to try......I want to feel.....I dunno...... _love_. I mean really feel it, not pain, not fear.....I think I need it. I've been thinking about it a great deal lately. I don't even know if I can......but......" 

His lips touched hers gently. He tasted of chocolate. 

"Listen to me Liv, if we do this, then it's only because you say it's okay. If you are scared or you don't like it, or anything.....anything at all.....we stop. Okay. This isn't just a meaningless act. It's a deep connection. It's not something that _has_ to happen. Not today, not tomorrow, not next week. I want you to feel comfortable. Making love to someone is supposed to be pleasurable, for both parties. It's not supposed to hurt or make you cry. So if it does, that's it......alright?" 

She seemed to dissolve into him, little sobs starting to come. 

"I love you so much."


	28. Chapter Twenty-Eight.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liv wants a Malcolm's love, but he's reluctant to put pressure on her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted this chapter to not be love for loves sake but to show the difference between her ex husband's expectations and Malcolm's respect.  
> Being respectful to a woman doesn't make the man somehow less of a man, but it's a concept that many men seem to struggle with. I'm not sure if this is either an old fashioned ideal or a modern thing.  
> Historically women were the property of men after marriage and many suffered as a consequence. Still do. Men were free to have multiple affairs, without their wives being able to do a thing about it. But if a woman did the same she was branded as the worst of harlots. Some were even committed to asylums. Women's rights may well be more in the forefront of the news in these last decades since the millennium but change is taking a heck of a while! It will continue to do so.  
> Malcolm isn't unique in being emanicapated as regards to his feelings and sexual urges, but he is amongst a minority rather than a majority. Sex as a right is still something that many men expect, even demand, and that is slow to change. 
> 
> This article appeared only yesterday on the BBC....
> 
> https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-wales-47657650
> 
> I urge you to read it. There are several very telling sentences here, which are entirely pertinent to this story. This is Liv's life. It was the life of the person I based her on.  
> Young people are actually learning their sexual practices from readily available porn sites...
> 
>  
> 
> _"The vast majority was incredibly violent and included rape scenes._  
>  _If it wasn't violent, the man would typically be extremely dominant - a "toxic masculinity" - with the woman gratefully receiving whatever was given._  
>  _What does this teach today's teenagers?_  
>  _That boys have to be in charge and masculine, and the girls submissive?_  
>  _There was no consideration of consent, or emotional connection, or joy beyond crude pleasure."_
> 
>  
> 
> _"When I was younger, we learnt about sex through novels, books or "dirty magazines", which are much less graphic than today's images._  
>  _But today's porn is staged and choreographed; it doesn't represent the reality of sex, where you laugh, get cramp or accidentally squash your partner._  
>  _Porn shows no intimacy between couples and is largely shot to appeal to men."_
> 
>  
> 
> The article perfectly illustrates what I'm trying to get across in writing this story.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT. 

 

 _"Unable to perceive the shape of you. I find you all around me. Your presence fills my eyes with your love. It humbles my heart, for you are everywhere."_ Ancient Islamic poetry. 

...............

They packed up the game in silence. 

Locked up, switched out the lights, and Malcolm followed Liv up the stairs. 

Standing together at the bottom of the bed. 

Trying to think of something to say. 

It wasn't romantic, it wasn't even vaguely...... _anything_. 

Just nervousness and an awkward stance. 

Malcolm placed his hands at the tops of her arms, just below her shoulders. His fingers digging in slightly. 

"Sweetheart. Trying to engineer something to make it happen, isn't going to make it happen. I know it's frustrating, and I know you think you want this so badly. You probably do. But listen, I don't want the first time we make love to be something you remember as difficult, or traumatic, stirring bad memories, making you upset. That's a horrible thing to be remembered for. Christ, I'm no fucking Casanova. I'm well aware of that, but I at least want it to be enjoyable. I want to make it good for you. So the added pressure is not fair on either of us. You're so tense. So scared. And that's the worst possible start. How about we just have a shower and go to bed, eh?" 

She nodded. Dissolving into floods of uncontrollable weeping. 

"I'm so pathetic." She sobbed. "But I do want this to happen between us. I do. I just want to feel normal Malcolm. That's all. I feel as if I'm standing on one side of the most rickety bridge. Too afraid to cross. Not doing it is almost as bad as doing it." 

Drawing her in. His hand held the back of her head against him gently. The other arm keeping her close. 

"It's not something you can just switch on, love. It needs time. You've been conditioned to perform. That's not how it works for me. And it requires you to place your trust in me. That I'll handle it okay. You need to be ready for that. You can't force yourself to feel stuff. I don't want to push this right now. I don't feel comfortable with that. I respect you too much to initiate something that I feel may ultimately make things worse for you. Let's just allow it to happen on its own eh?" 

She seemed so desperately disappointed. Her head bowed, shoulders slumped. Unable to meet his gaze. 

"I'm going to shower." She said dully. Turning away. 

He caught her arm, staying her movement. 

"Don't fucking punish yourself Liv. Or me. It _will_ happen, because in the long run, it's what we both want I'm sure. But real love can't be rushed. Accept that and it'll be easier for you. Okay?" 

Nodding again she pulled free. Seconds later he could hear the water running. 

Malcolm sighed deeply. 

This was so much worse than he could ever have imagined. So fucking hard. The last thing he wanted was for this to become 'a thing' between them. A fucking great elephant in the room. 

Sex. 

Why was it always the driving force? The be all and end all.  
When it was really just a small part of any relationship.  
The friendship. The companionship. The mutual partnership to be gained from being with one another.  
He relished those things with Liv every bit as much as he might want a sexual encounter.

Of course he liked it. Of course he did. That sacred bond with someone you loved enough to want to share your physical being with them.  
That's what it meant to him.  
It wasn't just the act of actually doing it. It was far more than that.  
Casual encounters had never been his thing. 

Ever. 

Sharing that intimacy wasn't something he took lightly. It was not his style to poke his dick into complete strangers or someone who didn't want it there. 

He didn't care about bragging rights with other males. He didn't give a fuck about prowess. 

Nor did he enter into this cult of 'conquering'. The mentality of a man bent on female domination which he knew her ex had found such a strong turn-on. 

That was not Malcolm Tucker. 

He had fucking integrity. He fucking did. He wasn't a cunt. Not where that was concerned. 

Stripping off his socks, trousers and jumper, he folded them, then plonked himself down on the edge of the bed in his T shirt and pants, head in his hands. 

It was then he heard the sounds.

Like the cries of a wounded animal. A low wailing which almost stopped his heart. 

Rising he crossed to the door and listened. 

Liv was crying so hard that she could scarcely breathe between sobs. 

"Liv? Can I come in?" He called first, but his increasing urgency to reach her got the better of his restraint. 

Entering, he found her seated on the floor inside the steamy cubicle, her legs folded beneath her where she had sunk down. Slumped against the tiles with the water pounding down over her. She looked like a drowned rat. Hair snaking down over her soaked skin like tendrils of sodden rope.  
Shoulders heaving. Head back, chin up, leaning on the tiled wall. Face creased into ugly crying. Tears intermingled with cascading water. Indistinguishable. 

"Oh God! Love......come out of there......Jesus Christ!" 

But she couldn't. 

Unable to move. 

It was as if every ounce of her strength had been washed down the plug hole. Malcolm had never seen such anguish. Such pain. 

Inconsolable sorrow. 

Decision made. Taking matters into his own hands. 

He had to stop this. He had to do something. Right away. 

Opening the door, he reached in and turned off the tap. Grabbing a bath towel from the rail, stepping into the wet tray with her to wrap it around her body.  
Covering her modesty. 

Bending over her. 

"Come on sweetheart. Up you come. It's alright, I'm here." 

Somehow he managed to get an arm round behind her in the confined space, the other under her legs. 

Wet and slippery and difficult to manage. Not heavy, but awkward. 

Gently. He carried her. Her head laid against his chest. Arms swaddled inside the towel. 

Like a dead thing. 

Although the water had been warm, she was shivering. 

Shivering and snivelling. 

Malcolm dried her as a father might dry his small child. 

Speaking soothing words. 

Once he was satisfied she was sufficiently warm, he wrapped the duvet around her. His own clothes were soaked, so he divested himself of them. Throwing them aside. 

He climbed in beside her. 

Skin to skin. 

Immediately she fastened onto him. 

Malcolm commenced rubbing circles on her naked back. Feeling the ridges of her spine beneath his fingers.  
Her breasts pressed against him.  
Placing little kisses into her damp hair. 

"Don't cry sweetheart." He murmured. "You hold on to me. We'll get there. We will. No matter how long it takes. We've come this far. Against all the odds. Who would have thought when I bought you a drink at that party, that we'd be here, hey? You took care of me at my lowest ebb. Now it's my turn to take care of you. Come on love. Let it go.....it's gonna be okay." 

No words came from her. She just clung to him until she eventually cried herself to sleep in his arms. 

oOo

Liv woke with the morning light. 

Her head ached as if she'd been drinking heavily the night before. 

Turning to the side she was greeted by the sight of Malcolm's grey head on the pillow beside hers. 

In sleep he looked so beautiful. His face completely relaxed. Long eyelashes. Sensual lips which gave the nicest kisses she'd ever known.  
His breathing was gentle. Shallow. 

Reaching out, she touched his unruly fluff of hair. His eyes opened slowly. Coming back to earth. Leaving the realms of blessed slumber. 

"Morning sweetheart." He whispered. 

She felt so warm snuggled next to him. 

Safe. 

While he was here, no harm would come to her. In her mind she knew he'd never do anything to hurt her physically. 

"You want tea?" He asked sleepily. 

She shook her head. 

"Well, I need to pee, so I'll make some anyway. I don't mind." 

In five minutes he was back. 

He'd brushed his teeth too, she knew because his kisses were now minty. 

"I was just thinking....." she remarked, between snogs. "I don't think I have any condoms. Do you?" 

"Liv, I haven't had a fucking proper girlfriend for three years. I don't leave the house armed with prophylactics on the off chance I might get lucky." 

Her giggle was genuine. 

"Well I haven't had sex in over two years, so I'm not on the Pill or anything. What would be the point?" 

"Sounds like we need a chemist then!" He joined her nervous laughter. 

"In the meantime, and in absence of those things......" He began kissing her again. 

His body was partly over hers. Chest to chest. She could feel him hard against the side of her thigh. 

After a few moments he pulled away. 

"Don't suppose you have any lube either?" He asked hopefully. 

"Ah, now there I can help......bedside cabinet drawer.....if it's not out of date!" She replied. 

"Liv, I'd like to try something. Do you trust me?" 

She nodded. Her eyes widening slightly, becoming more scared. 

"Don't be afraid. I'd like you to close your eyes. Take some deep breaths. I'm not going to do anything other than simply touch, okay?" 

She nodded again, vigorously. Doing as she was told. "What are you going to do to me?" Her breathing came fast and furious. 

"Listen to me Liv. If I do anything you don't like, or don't want....or if it hurts or, well......anything. You say so and I stop. Alright?" 

Another nod, as she lowered her eyelids. 

He kissed her again, in her darkness she wasn't expecting it, didn't see it coming, but she craned forward slightly to strengthen the connection as she felt the touch of his lips. 

Very slowly he let his mouth travel down to her neck. Her arms were rigid at her sides, and he felt her fists clench, pulling up a handful of sheet in each. 

"Breathe sweetheart." He whispered, returning to her mouth once more. 

He could tell she was terrified. Afraid of her own reactions almost as much as anything he might do. He realised she'd never been given adequate time to react. To relax. 

However, she allowed him to move down her body, let his hand cup her breast gently, the warmth of his tongue on her exposed nipple. 

The little gasp she gave at the sensation made him stop and look up. 

Her eyes were screwed tightly shut. Mouth open slightly. He repeated the exercise and felt her hips buck beneath his weight. 

A small noise came from her with every breath. His hand was caressing her now, over her obviously knotted stomach, her hip, pausing just above the apex of her legs. 

"Don't think about anything." He whispered. "Just focus on the touch if you can. What it makes you feel. I'm not going to go inside you or anything like that. I promise. Is that okay?" 

"Mmm hmm." She managed to squeak out. 

While he was speaking, he must have lubed his fingers, although she was not aware of it, and now he slid them down carefully, parting her delicate skin and touching her clitoris for the first time. 

The reaction was instant. 

Cool gel. His gentle stroke. The feel of his thumb as it began to circle slowly. 

He felt her arch her back beneath him. Tilting her head back. Exposing her white throat to his gaze.  
"Oh, God Malcolm. Please." To his relief he could sense her body beginning to relax. Loosening and becoming less tense. 

The lubrication did its work. Allowing his fingers to slide over her most sensitive spot. Quickly becoming attuned to her movement, the sounds she was making. 

Inside Olivia's head there was nothing except what he was doing to her. Blotting out everything else. The rhythmic and sensual touch. Jolts of pleasure washing through her body. She felt as if a fire had been lit between her legs.

To her it seemed to be building. Becoming more and more intense. Her thighs seemed weak, as if she needed to open them.  
Somewhere deep inside her raged a desperate ache. 

An ache that needed to be assuaged. Fulfilled. It began to consume her. 

She could think of nothing except what it would be like to have him inside her. It was so strong that if necessary she would have gone down on her knees and begged him to fuck her, because she needed it so badly. These thoughts were a powerful aphrodisiac. Rerouting the blood flow from her brain to the spot where his fingers stroked with increasing accuracy. 

Beneath him her movements became more uncoordinated, her gasps more urgent. 

He gauged the moment, closing his mouth over hers again, teasing her lips apart, wordlessly asking to be let in.  
She opened for him as if he were saving her life. 

He knew she was close. At the moment he penetrated her mouth with his tongue she came. 

It was as if that act tipped her over the edge. A stifled groan. Her body pulsing wildly against his fingers. 

He stilled them. Pressing against her tender flesh. 

"Okay sweetheart? Yes! There it is....let it come. " He crooned softly, as her arms came up, clinging to him as if she were drowning. A flurry of hot tears sprang then, with a series of gasping meaningless sounds in between. 

"Malcolm! Oh sweet lord." 

In between little hissing puffs of air, she rode the throes and then began to calm. 

A final smooch. His nose pressed into her cheek. Still she could feel him rock hard against her. But all she could think about at that moment was the amazing way she felt. The way he'd made her feel. 

As if drawn out of herself. Euphoric. Set free somehow. A mixture of release and relief. 

Emotion poured from her. Unstoppable. She felt as if she were no longer solid. Limp. Boneless, almost liquid.  
Her body still screaming from the aftermath. 

Drifting on the wave of the powerful orgasm, she must have slept. Although she didn't remember falling. 

A delicious post climax sleep. 

Vaguely aware of waking briefly, finding herself alone. Then waking a second time to find Malcolm seated beside her again, a small package concealed in his hand. 

"Are you alright?" She asked. 

"I'm fine love." 

"Where were you?" 

"Not far." 

"Come back to bed." 

"It's mid morning." 

"Please Malcolm." She reached for him. 

With a sigh he undressed himself, laying down again at her side. 

"I want you." 

There was a new conviction in her voice. A different strength. 

"Are you sure?" 

"I've never been more sure of anything in my entire life." 

She tugged him to her. 

"Where did you go?"

"Only to the bathroom....to shower. Then I popped out for a bit. Left you to sleep."

...........

How could he tell her? 

What a lucky bastard he was. How honoured that she'd even allowed him to touch her like that. 

Humbled that she trusted him so implicitly. 

Unaware as she was that he was almost bursting with need afterwards and had to attend to himself. 

Standing in the shower, his hand a blur. Finally achieving release himself. His body spurting into the water flow and dissipating as he watched it, breathing heavily. His forehead pressed against the cool tiles. 

He wanted to weep. But there were no tears. His brain was foggy and unclear. He'd come close this time. Close to making love. Something that he yearned for so much. To feel really, truly wanted.  
Just for being himself. 

Brain fever. On the brink of madness. 

Air. 

He needed air. 

A brisk walk to clear his head. 

Dressing himself hurriedly he left the house, nipping down to the shops nearby, where he knew there was a Boot's. 

She was entirely oblivious. Sleeping on untroubled. 

Now here he was, beside her again. 

And she wanted him. 

This beautiful woman, who had been through so much. Needed his love as much as he was longing to give it.  
Tempering his eagerness, keeping a lid on his passion.  
Holding back. 

He could do it.  
Of course he could. 

Had to. 

Not allowing himself to become carried away. Don't push. Don't pressurise. 

Don't be a cunt.......

...........

"I love you Malcolm Tucker." 

Her words filtered into the shell of his ear. Bringing him back from the attic room where his thoughts wandered. 

She stroked down his skinny chest with both hands. Grazing over the pale nipples with a delicate touch which made him hiss. 

"You are so beautiful, such lovely skin." She whispered, placing little pecks against his willing mouth. 

He could not reply. Couldn't respond in any way, other than to swallow hard and let his eyes fall shut in an effort to rein in his body's reactions. 

"Can I touch you?" Her voice seemed so silky, but so far away somehow because his own blood was throbbing in his ears and muffling the sound. 

All he managed was a nod. 

"I didn't get the chance earlier. But I couldn't. I couldn't concentrate on anything else. I'm sorry." 

"It's alright. Doesn't matter. Wasn't about me. It was all about you." He managed to stammer. 

"Not this time." 

As her hands strayed lower, his breathing became more erratic. Drawing in his stomach, clenching his abs, urgent breaths in and out rapidly.  
"Oh Christ." He half sobbed, gritting his teeth. 

Small fingers closing around him.  
Moaning helplessly and feeling around for something to cling on to as she aroused him with gentle yet deft strokes of her hand. 

It had been so long since anyone touched him there but himself. Almost too much for him to handle. 

Reaching to his side, his fumbling fingers found the foil packet. He placed it into her open palm. 

As if it were a sacred offering. 

"Will you put it on for me?" His voice was broken with desire.

"Open your eyes Malc." She whispered. 

He obeyed. Looking down at himself.

Prick as stiff as a ridge pole, standing resplendant and upright and away from his body. It was alright. His manhood. It wasn't something he thought about much, but it was alright. Right now, he was quite proud of it. Good shape. Good size. The veins running along his length like blue rivers on a roadmap.  
'Fuck it all Malcolm! Stop admiring your own cock for fucks sake! Focus!'  
Shit! But his poor sorry balls ached like anything. 

As he watched she rolled the condom down over him delicately, using just her thumb and index finger, slow downward strokes until it reached the base.  
It felt tight and restrictive and it made him throb all the harder.

Actually physically seeing her do this to him was almost too much too. 

He had to look away. Detach himself from what she was doing, as she squeezed some lube into her palm and began to apply it, all the way down, her thumb sweeping over and around his tip, making him begin to tremble uncontrollably. 

"Fuck....Liv.....please....." he managed to choke out. 

She smiled a little smile, and kissed him on the lips. 

Bringing his arms up and around her he kissed her back, deeply. 

The feel of her body pressed up against him was like flame. 

A trickle of sweat formed at the back of his neck and ran in a rivulet down between his shoulder blades. 

As their mouths stayed connected, he gently lowered her backwards, until she nestled amongst the pillows. 

"You're still sure?" He whispered, positioning himself over her. 

"Yes Malcolm. Please. I want you to make love to me." 

Holy shit balls! He wanted to too! 

More than anything else he could possibly dream of right at that moment. 

There was a sheen of perspiration on her skin as he slid his hand down to touch her. 

It made her body feel soft, as if she'd been oiled. Her scent overwhelmed him, invading his nostrils and driving him insane. 

He was positioned over her, his weight on his arms, keeping a gap between them of no more than a couple of inches, so as not to make her feel crushed beneath him. 

She was at least not so terribly dry as she'd been earlier, although he used lots of lube, nor was she so tensed with fear, as he lowered his bottom half closer. 

"Tell me to stop and I'll stop." He murmured, his mouth close to her ear lobe. 

"No. Please Malc. Do it. I'm ready." 

He pushed inside her gently. Feeling her give under him. She seemed to sink inwards and inhale deeply. A long held breath which she then let go with a groan. 

"You okay?" He whispered, keeping himself perfectly still. 

Giving her a few seconds to adjust to the feel of him. 

Her reply was to bring her arms up and around his back, pulling him down onto her. He allowed her to do it, letting his body settle on top of hers. 

Slowly, he withdrew, before sliding forwards again. 

He was petrified of hurting her, scared to be too rough. 

As he moved within her he watched her face below him. Trying to discern any sign of discomfort or pain.  
There was none.  
Her eyes were shut, but not tightly, her mouth falling open slightly, head tilted back, nostrils flaring with each breath. 

Gradually he began to glide back and forth more freely. With each gentle thrust she made a sound that he couldn't describe for the life of him.  
It wasn't a moan, nor yet a whimper, it was a sound of someone falling, someone who so wanted to fall. A low melodic note of deep surrender, liberation and fulfilment. 

Christ! He couldn't believe it. 

He was actually doing it. He was making love to a beautiful woman. He was physically inside her.  
His hands on her skin, feeling her mouth searching blindly for his.  
She wanted this. Welcomed it even. 

Part of him felt so overwhelmed it was a miracle he could continue. But he kept up a slow and sensual rhythm. Not pushing too hard. But strong enough to allow her to really feel that he was there. 

For Liv it was mind blown. 

She had never really had sex this way before. 

Even in the days before her ex became more insistent and significantly less kind, it was never like this. 

They were one. 

Joined together, locked in an embrace so intimate that she couldn't tell where Malcolm ended and she began. 

Liv had never taken drugs before, but this was how she imagined it would be to feel high. 

A wonderful sensation of floating. Being in the moment and yet somehow looking down upon herself.  
Surrounded by total love.  
From a well spring deep inside her there bubbled a feeling of great need. 

Need to take him deeper. Need to hold him closer. Need to reach the ultimate climax. 

Somehow they rolled together, somehow she grabbed onto his buttocks with her hands. Her fingers digging into his flesh. 

There were no flashbacks, not hint of pain and certainly no fear. 

Just a powerful urge to run headlong to meet that glorious moment. 

Above her she sensed Malcolm beginning to unravel. 

Becoming less coordinated. 

They were both wet now, their bodies slippery with sweat, which mingled and dried in the cool air. 

Her legs were wrapped around him, binding him to her, as with a final few thrusts he began to let go. 

She actually felt his body give a convulsive jerk. A grunt coming from him, then a despairing cry of _'no!'_. 

"It's alright Malcom. Don't hold it. Let it happen." 

He came. 

And with that physical surrender his emotions poured forth. Sobs which he could not hold back after so long without the thrill of physical love. 

As each pulse propelled him forwards he was jammed against her most sensitive spot. Before she even knew what was happening a kernel of fire erupted from within her and she came herself. 

It was a mutual capitulation. 

They simply gave in. 

Let the tide wash over them both until they were entirely spent. 

Their relationship well and truly consummated. 

Soggy and breathless and euphoric. 

His forehead and hair were damp. Her own was wild and unkempt. Falling around the pillow like strands of silken rope.  
Rolling to the side he lay flat on his back panting for a few moments, spots dancing in front of his eyes, before he was forced to sit up and deal with a now semi flaccid penis and an utterly revolting rubber which was threatening to leak everywhere, including upon himself and the bedclothes. 

"I fucking hate condoms." He moaned. 

She watched with some amusement as he edged himself gingerly out of bed, half hopping, half stumbling, both knees clamped together, towards the bathroom.  
It was almost comical. 

He was soon back. Clean, and contrite. 

Laying back, still breathing hard next to her. Stretched out, one arm thrown up over his eyes. 

Liv turned on her side, moving over his body. Kissing him tenderly. 

"Thank you." She murmured sweetly. 

"Don't think I've ever come so hard in my life." He puffed. "Fucking drowning in my own jizz." 

She tutted good naturedly at the imagery. 

"Only you could come out with that statement after what was undoubtedly the best sex I've ever had!" She smiled. 

He looked at her with wide eyes his brows arched with incredulity. 

"Really?" His tone heavy with scepticism. 

"Oh most definitely." She confirmed. 

"Fuck! Well.....I'm a love God then....." 

"You most certainly are......and I love you. So, so much."

Fresh tears welled up. 

"I didn't hurt you did I? I tried so hard not to. To make it nice, to make it good for you.....honestly Liv, I don't think I've ever been so fucking nervous." 

"You were wonderful." She laid her head against him and he bought his arms around her, cuddling her to him. 

They lay thus for a few moments. Recovering. 

It was a while before he spoke. 

"I'm fucking starving." He complained. 

As if to confirm the truth of this statement, his stomach growled. 

"I'll hop in the shower and then do us some brunch.....since it's almost 11." She replied from somewhere down on his chest. 

She felt a kiss planted on the top of her head. 

"Sounds like a plan. I'll join you." 

"Oh no you won't! You can go downstairs and put the coffee machine on, lay the table......then I'll cook while _you_ shower!" 

Her voice scolded, but only in fun. 

He sighed, rolling his eyes. 

"Fair enough!"


	29. Chapter Twenty-Nine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Malcolm's birthday......Cunt Cake anyone......?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is really to show progression. Both in the companionship and togetherness of Malcolm and Liv's relationship, and the intimate side too.  
> A learning curve which is true of most relationships as they grow and develop.
> 
> _(Because this story features quite a lot about the way men treat women, I wanted to add in the notes some of the details of a programme broadcast just recently. Although the details aren't specifically relevant to the story, I found the programme deeply shocking, and infuriating! It's pertinent however, in that it highlighted the way men, particularly those in authority, sometimes treat women.)_
> 
>   _(It was a documentary about the Yorkshire Ripper, Peter Sutcliffe. He killed 13 women over a period of several years, and attacked several others. Now SOME of these women were prostitutes. Some weren't. But first the police, then the press and later the general public immediately focussed on that fact. The women, who were hit over the head with a hammer and stabbed repeatedly, were variously described, as 'asking for it' 'of lose morals' 'of dubious character' 'no better than they should be' etc. The initial killings barely caused a stir. The value of their lives was less than those of his non-prostitute victims who were described as 'innocent' 'wholesome' 'of good family and character'. In fact it wasn't until someone who was clearly not a prostitute was attacked that people began to demand results._  
>  _The police investigation was hampered by their focus on the prostitute angle. Women who didn't fit into that category were 'targeted as a mistake' and were not listened to. The ripper would have been caught so much more quickly had they not been so prejudiced._  
>  _In fact they cruised the streets arresting 'lose' women, but ignored the men who kerb crawled looking for their services. Because, well 'a man has needs'._  
>  _Sutcliffe was actually interviewed several times and dismissed, even though the 'innocent' women who survived had all described him similarly. Leaving him free to kill again._
> 
>   _All the police officers were men. Their attitude to the street workers was that they were the lowest of the low. Yet the men who used and abused them were not. Why? Many had been forced onto the streets to feed their children, or as the result of exploitation, (by men) or by their vulnerability as they came from children's homes etc._  
>  _Following the 13th murder police tried to enforce a curfew on women. Hundreds marched the streets of Leeds to protest that the curfew should actually be applied to men as the root cause of the problem._  
>  _The Police reported that these women were 'out of control'._  
>  _I know that this was in the seventies and early eighties, but men's entitlement where sex is concerned is just as starkly present now as it was then. Attitudes are slow to change._  
>  _Liv's ex was really not so very different to those police officers._ )

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE. 

 

 _“Love is taking a few steps backward, maybe even more…to give way to the happiness of the person you love.”_ —Winnie-the-Pooh

................

 

Malcolm Tucker never saw himself as being particularly romantic. 

He knew he was old fashioned, or at least he held on to old fashioned values. 

That probably made him seem like Methuselah to the young guns surrounding him. 

He didn't really give a fuck. 

They thought they knew everything. When really they knew nothing at all. Particularly where women were concerned. He'd seen it so often, the way his younger colleagues treated their female counterparts. No fucking respect. Malcolm was different. He saw women not as objects but as fellow human beings. 

Having a sex life had caused a profound change in him. 

It wasn't that he thought about doing it more, although he probably did, it was just that it was now more readily available. 

Which was an alien state of affairs. 

Previously he didn't see much of Liv during the week. They mainly came together at weekends, either at his place or hers. 

Since the election and his enforced slavery into stultifying boredom and an immensely tedious routine, they met at least twice in the week, sometimes three times. 

They cooked together on most of these occasions, sometimes they ventured out to restaurants. 

Mostly they just relished each other's company. 

Nowadays there was no question of going home. If Malcolm was at Liv's house, he would stay over, they would have breakfast together next morning and go in to work, or lie in if it was a Saturday.  
He kept some clothes in her wardrobe, shaving gear in her bathroom and clean underwear in his own special drawer, which she'd emptied out for his use. 

On the evenings she came to his, she always slept in his bed with him. The routine was otherwise much the same. Breakfast, perhaps at home, or at a nice cafe they knew on the way in to their respective offices.  
There were lacy knickers in amongst his things, tampons and lipstick in his shower room cabinet, and the smell of her perfume pervading his work suits, where her clothes hung next to his. 

Then there was the sex. 

For a start there was a lot more of it about. 

Of course, they didn't always make love.....not _every_ time.....but, well......Malcolm didn't want to blow his own trumpet so to speak......but let's just say, he often had a wistful smile on his face, and a warm glowing feeling in his loins. 

For Liv it was not so very different. 

She had never really enjoyed sex. For her it had become a thing of dread. 

Not any more. 

Now she found that the whole experience was quite.....enlightening....

Undressing in front of Malcolm was no longer an issue. She was neither shy with him, nor him with her. 

This was new. Before, she'd always tried to hide herself. Ashamed. 

Having the light on was also a revelation. 

Being able to see as well as feel. 

Malcolm spent a great deal of time and energy making sure it was good for her. That she was comfortable with what he did, felt safe, and trusted him.  
At the same time, she was learning new things. He was teaching her. 

Sexual union for him was all about mutual pleasure. 

But for Olivia it had never been this way. She'd never derived an ounce of pleasure of any kind from it. 

Now she did. 

Malcolm was always very gentle with her, very tender and respectful. It was part of his upbringing.  
But there were things he enjoyed too, or would enjoy should they be offered, and this she was finding out about him slowly but surely.  
Kissing, she knew he loved.....he just couldn't get enough.  
Cuddling, snuggling and lots of foreplay too.  
Different positions, now there was another eureka moment!

"Good grief! You mean you don't always want me to be under you?"

"Fuck no! It's not all about me pounding you into the mattress, love. There's more fun for us both to be had than just that!" 

The time spent working towards being 'in the mood' was something he particularly relished.  
Caressing, fondling, massaging, it was all part of the package. 

The subtle art of seduction. 

Something at which Malcolm was really rather proficient.

There was something else he was good at too......

Erogenous zones. 

This had been yet another steep learning curve. 

Jesus Christ! 

She discovered by accident that he had extremely sensitive nipples. In fact he could be reduced to whimpering blubber just by the skilful application of a little careful stimulation.  
Producing a most satisfying outcome! 

Then there was the sad fact that before meeting Malcolm, Liv barely knew she possessed a clitoris. 

But oh my! She sure did now! 

When he used his tongue on her for the first time it was all she could do to stop herself going into total meltdown.

The orgasms he'd given her that way were something she'd quite cheerfully walk ten miles for....with no shoes on.....in a blizzard....

Fucking nuclear! 

Smug bastard, he could play her like a harp! 

There were occasions now when sitting at her desk, that the very thought of him licking her would make her face flush and she had to cross her legs hurriedly and really concentrate hard on the computer screen in front of her. 

It just didn't do to have a moist gusset when one was meant to be working! 

oOo

There was a skin on the top of his coffee. 

It was luke warm and congealed. 

Malcolm finished his emails, put the final touches to an article for The Guardian setting out the merits of his new leader and how good she would be for the Party, then sat back in his chair. 

It was his birthday. 

He hadn't said a word. 

Sam knew, of course. 

How could she forget? This time last year. 

When she'd entered his office at Number Ten bearing a large box, containing a 'cunt cake' from Tom.

Christ! Was that really a year ago?

Malcolm reflected on all that had happened in the previous twelve months. How far he'd come. Back then he was pretty much a lonely fucker. Bitter and solitary.  
Now he had light in his life.  
Liv had taken the empty space in his heart and filled it. 

Couldn't believe his fucking luck. 

He'd met her at a party, bought her a drink, and everything changed! 

Being with her was all he'd ever wanted from a relationship. They complimented each other perfectly. 

She brought order and tranquility to his existence, as well as her kindness and love. Giving both freely and without demands. 

In short, he fucking adored her. 

Waking with her in the mornings. Holding her close and making love to her at night. 

It made his life worth living. 

Malcolm didn't like, didn't want a fuss about today. The fewer people knew the better. 

He'd deliberately kept Liv in the dark. Although he knew when her birthday was, because he'd seen it on her driving licence when she was applying for her new passport, just recently. 

Sam knocked and entered carrying some files, plus a small cardboard container. 

"Morning Sam." He stretched his arms above his head and yawned, before pushing back his chair and standing up. 

"Morning birthday boy!" Coming around the desk, he found himself enveloped in a warm hug, his cheeks summarily kissed. 

Did they do that now as well? As well as the 'talking about personal stuff'? As Boss and PA? 

Kissing and cuddling?

Apparently so! 

Malcolm frowned. 

"I have something for you." She smiled, ignoring his facial expression. 

Inside the box was a red velvet cupcake, iced with an M......and a card. 

Opening the envelope, he read the sentiment and burst out laughing. 

_"May you live long, and never smell of piss."_

Inside....

 _"Happy birthday to the best 'Boss'. Lots of love from Sam xxx"_

"Thanks Darl. Hopefully that won't happen for a while yet." He smiled, propping the greeting next to his computer. 

"What are you doing for your birthday then?" She asked. 

"Nothing. I'm just going to Liv's tonight, we are gonna have dinner then maybe go to the flicks." 

"Wow! Excuse me while I shit myself with excitement." 

Malcolm gave a withering look. 

"I don't want a bloody fuss. As far as I'm concerned I'm another fucking year older! That's not much to celebrate." 

"Oh well! At least it's Friday! You finished that article yet? Only I need to proof read it before it goes off." 

"Yep. All done." 

oOo

 

Waking alone in her own bed was a stark reminder to Liv of how lovely it was to wake with Malcolm next to her.  
He'd stayed at his own place the previous night for reasons best known to himself. 

Liv suspected she knew exactly why. 

He was feeling low, partly because of the impending anniversary, (which he wanted to pass like any other day, no one to be even aware of its passing), and partly because of the ineptitude of Mrs Nicola Murray.  
In these moods he tended to run for his own space. He liked to wallow in his own self pity by himself, until he could snap out of it.  
This particular day also came on the back of the dreadful rut he constantly found himself in at work. 

All culminating in the very dour Scots propensity to see every fucking thing around him as shite. 

Of course she was well aware it was his birthday. Sam had informed her weeks before. In vain she waited for Malcolm himself to mention it.  
But he remained resolutely silent on the subject. 

Olivia knew darn well he wouldn't want a fuss. 

She knew he hated parties, and/or large gatherings. 

To that end she had decided what to do. There was no way she was going to let his special day pass uncelebrated. 

So, a small intimate dinner party, with their closest friends. 

No bunting. No balloons. No fanfare. 

She just hoped he wouldn't blow his top! 

He wasn't keen on surprises either. 

Rising, she showered, dressed and sorted out her recipe books. 

Malcolm didn't eat stodge. He didn't have a huge appetite. He did, however, have quite a sweet tooth. 

With this in mind she chose a simple light starter of smoked salmon mousse, which she knew he loved, and a tasty chicken dish with roasted vegetables.  
Good old Mary Berry came up trumps with a coffee flavoured panna cotta with fresh berries, and she decided to bake him a sponge cake. 

Once settled in her mind, a list made, she set off to the local shops. 

Throughout the morning Liv felt a huge sense of utter happiness. 

Mooching round the supermarket, popping into the artisan bakery, the little fruit and veg market, wheeling her bicycle amongst the stalls. 

Content with her purchases, she headed for a well earned coffee in her favourite cafe. 

Lucky to bag herself a window seat, with a steaming bowl of cappuccino and a biscotti. 

Gazing idly out into the street, people watching, as she loved to do, she suddenly froze. 

A man coming down the street. The walk instantly familiar. She'd know it anywhere. Her ex. 

He was strolling, a woman on his arm.....Wendy Draper. 

They were laughing together, oblivious that they were being observed. 

Even now the sight of him struck ice in her heart. Churning up old feelings and memories. Making tears well up.  
It was a moment. That was all. The couple already out of sight.  
Liv swallowed her remaining coffee and scurried back to her place. 

Only feeling truly safe when she was home again, her front door closed on the world. 

Angry with herself. 

'Snap out of this, you stupid bloody woman!' She told herself firmly. 'Don't let that cunt get to you and ruin your day'. 

Taking her own advice, she switched on her most upbeat music, began arranging her cookery utensils, switched on the oven and threw herself into creating with gusto. 

In a relatively short while, she had everything she needed in advance made, just last minute prep to do. 

All that remained now was to pull out the extending leaves on her table, find a cloth to fit, napkins and some bling to make it look suitably 'birthday like'. 

She would light some pillar candles around the place to make a nice atmosphere and then all was ready. 

Malcolm was coming to hers after popping back to his own home for a shower and change. He'd texted her earlier to tell her so. 

It was then she realised something. 

She was so excited, so absorbed, so looking forward to seeing Malcolm, having missed him terribly the day before, that she'd entirely forgotten the incident earlier in the day at the cafe. 

Suddenly, her ex didn't matter any more. His effect on her was brief. 

She really had moved on. 

 

oOo

Malcolm left work on the dot of five. 

All day he'd felt lethargic and miserable. 

Letting himself into his empty home, he found envelopes on the doormat. 

One from Pat. 

_'Happy birthday you old bastard'._

And one from Scotland. His sister.  
A brief message and a photo of the children. 

He stared at it for some time. Feeling more depressed than ever. Fuck, but they'd grown. Looked so different.  
If only he could see them. 

Standing the cards on his shelf along with the one Sam had given him earlier, he showered and changed. 

He needed to see Liv. 

Badly. 

Why the fuck had he stayed away from her? It was like he enjoyed torturing himself. 

Couldn't wait to see that smile. Hold her close to him. 

What a fucking birthday! 

Three cards. No presents. Nothing.  
And he'd kidded himself that it was what he wanted. 

He was a fool. 

It was a just a day like any other. No one to remember, or even to mark the occasion. No one to care. 

Fucking hell! 

Grabbing his jacket, he left the house. 

Thank god he didn't have to spend the evening alone. 

Thank god there was Olivia. 

He was luckier than he could possibly know. 

oOo

Her guests were arriving. 

Liv was so wound up with nervous anticipation, she could hardly hold it in. 

Sam and James. Pat. Fiona. All arrived within a few minutes of each other. 

"Crikey, Liv, you're like a cat on hot bricks! Calm down!" Sam laughed. 

"Oh god! What if he hates it? What if he's angry? He's been a bit unpredictable lately." 

"Darling....he'll be fine. And if he gets shirty I'll Gibbs-slap him! He's been so fucking grumpy all day I almost whacked him earlier this afternoon. I'm guessing it's because he thinks no one knows or cares that it's his birthday. I swear he enjoys making himself miserable. He positively revels in it!" 

"Liv! Quick! Here he comes!" Pat whispered urgently, from his look-out post peeping through a chink in the curtains. 

Together they all whipped behind the partition doors between the lounge and the dining area to hide. 

Hushing each other and settling themselves, as Liv ran to answer the front door to his knock. 

Malcolm was standing on the step. Hands in his pockets. He looked bereft, his face pinched and worn, red rims around his eyes. 

"Malcolm! What is it? What's wrong?" 

Foot over the threshold he caved in, arms drawing her in, kissing her in the open doorway as if they'd been separated for months. 

"Oh fuck, I'm so glad to be here." He breathed, releasing her and standing back. 

His eyes scanned the dingy hallway with a frown. 

"Why's it so dark in here? It's like a fucking funeral parlour." 

She threaded her arm through his at the elbow, gently guiding him towards the living room. 

"Come through. The table is laid ready." 

As they reached the door, Malcolm caught the merest glimpse of candle light, through the glass doors, before they were thrown back and everyone cried out....

"SURPRISE!!" 

The whole scene played out in a few seconds. 

It seemed like an hour. 

But it wasn't. 

It was moments. 

Malcolm was stunned. Utterly speechless for a change. 

He stared at the smiling faces, his eyes roaming over everything.  
The table, the candles twinkling, giving a soft yellow light to the room, he seemed momentarily confused.  
Across his face flitted all the emotions. 

Furrowed perplexity, followed by eyebrow raising surprise, then a blush of acute embarrassment and finally a nervous little laugh, looking to the side at Liv, who looked back at him hopefully, fearfully and questioningly.  
As if to say 'is it alright? Please say you're pleased!' 

"What the fuck....?" He stammered. 

"Happy Birthday Boss!" 

Sam came forward without further ceremony and crushed him into a hug, hissing into his ear. 

"Malcolm, this is for you, because we all love you, it's your birthday you tosser, fucking embrace it!" 

He moved through the little crowd, still struggling for words. A hand shake to James, a man hug from Pat, double cheek kiss from Fiona, then turning back to Liv, shaking his head in disbelief. 

"I can't believe you....." he became suddenly choked. ".....I mean, how did you even know?" 

Her arms came up around his neck, pulling him close. 

"Happy birthday Malc. I love you." She whispered. 

oOo

Malcolm held out his glass with the most sceptical expression on his face. 

Liv filled it from the jug she held. 

"Am I going to like this? What the fuck is in it?" 

"It's called 'Why Not?' and I made it myself. It's crushed ice, melon, lemon sorbet, mango Monin and fresh mint.....those who want it can have gin in theirs, but this version is alcohol free." 

Malcolm sipped dubiously. 

"Fucking hell!" He cried, smacking his lips. "I'm not a cocktail man, god knows, but that is amazing!" 

"Thought you'd like it!" 

It was sharp and clean and refreshing, but with a hint of sweetness, perfect for an aperitif. A citrus tingle on his tongue, which even with his sweet tooth he found delicious......

.......Seated in her dining room in the warm glow of the candles, music playing softly in the background, Malcolm found himself looking around the table and thanking the gods above.

Everyone was chatting, laughing and enjoying the wonderful food. Such a great atmosphere. Plenty of banter. 

"Your face when you walked in Malc! Fuck me! It was hilarious." Pat guffawed. 

"What do you expect? When all you daft cunts come leaping out at me! I thought it was a bleedin' gang bang....or one of those gatherings where you all put your car keys in a fucking dish."

"Oh Malcolm! You really are terrible." Sam grimaced. "Even for you that's bad!" 

"As for you Samantha Cassidy! I have no words for the depths to which you sunk with your lying falsehoods." 

"What do you mean?" Retorted his PA indignantly. 

Malcolm spoke in sing song parrot fashion. 

"' _What are you doing for your birthday Malcolm?_ ' 'I'm going to Liv's for dinner and maybe a movie.' _Oh excuse me while I shit myself with excitement_.......' Clever love, fucking clever!" 

He winked at her. 

"Bastards! The lot of you! Last time I trust any one of you!" 

Roars of laughter echoed around him, mingling with his own amusement. 

These were friends. Real friends.  
Especially Pat and Sam. 

They knew him so well. They knew everything about him. They still cared. 

They wanted to celebrate with him, share the camaraderie. 

He didn't need gifts. No present could be as good as their comradeship. Or of more worth to him. 

The greatest gift of all was Liv at his side, that meant more to him than anything money could buy. 

She leaned into him. 

"You okay?" She whispered. 

"This is the best birthday ever." He replied honestly. 

"I was worried you'd be angry. But I couldn't let it pass without doing something. It's a special day."

"It is now."

"I'm afraid I haven't got you anything....." 

"I don't want anything." 

"The dinner is your present." 

"It's wonderful. It's all I want. Excellent food and the best company. What more could I possibly ask for?"

She threaded her arm through his at the elbow. 

"I'm so glad you're happy." She beamed. 

.......

Sam and Liv retired discretely to the kitchen to make coffee, leaving the others talking. 

"So, James.....I hope you're going to look after my girl! She's one of the best you know." 

"I know Malcolm....but thanks for the heads up!" 

"She's a fucking diamond. So you make sure you make her happy! Or else!" He gave an odd sideways wink. 

"Or else what?" Fiona piped up. 

"Or else I'll desiccate him!" 

"Don't you mean decimate?" 

"No. I mean desiccate. Shredded, like the fucking coconut!" 

He turned towards Liv's best friend then, his eyes mirthful. Although his face now stern. 

"Anyway.....remind me again....who the fuck are you?" 

Fiona blanched, and began to stammer. 

"I'm Liv's best friend. I've known her forever." Then, finding her strength. "I love her to bits, and if you don't make her happy....it's me who'll be doing the desiccating!" 

Malcolm kept his face straight. 

"You told her I was a fucking madman! Tried to warn her off....RUDE! What do you have to say for yourself....eh?" 

He saw Fiona swallow hard. Fuck, he was enjoying this. 

Pat interjected. 

"He's teasing you Fiona. Don't take any notice of him. This is what he does....he corners people, watches them squirm....." 

She regarded him questioningly, holding his intense gaze steadily. There was a wee twinkle there, just discernible.  
The silence dripped like melting ice. 

In another second, he let out a puff of breath and began to laugh. 

"Gotcha!" He wheezed. 

"You bloody sod! I thought you were serious!" Fiona breathed freely again. 

The music was suddenly muted, and the table fell instantly silent. The laughter fading, dissipating into anticipation.......

 _"Happy Birthday to you......."_

Liv and Sam entered, singing. The cake held aloft, candles lit. 

The light from the flames reflected in their eyes, the glow shining on their cheeks. 

The others joined in lustily. 

_"Happy birthday dear Malcolm.....happy birthday to you....."_

Malcolm's eyes glistened as he looked around him. 

Smiles. Warmth. Love. 

What a lucky fucker he was! 

Sucking in a deep breath, he blew them out in one go, then looked up into Liv's shining eyes. 

She leaned down and kissed his lips. 

Malcolm's chest swelled. His heart was full. 

He couldn't remember a moment when he'd been more happy, not for a very, very long time at least. 

oOo

Guests gone. Clearing up done. 

Malcolm lay in bed, not sleepy. One arm thrown up behind his head. The other around Liv, who lay with her cheek against his chest. 

Content. 

"I like your friend Fiona." He remarked, breaking a silence of several minutes. 

"I'm glad." Replied a muffled voice from below. 

"Calls a spade a spade. Pat was rather smitten I think." 

"I think you're right. He's wasting his time with Foe though. She's gay." 

"Ah." 

"I've known her since before we were teenagers. Around eleven. Even when we were younger I think I sensed something. But we were always like sisters. We did everything together. Netball. Brownies. Computer Club. Everything. We just liked all the same things, same music, same books. In fact the only thing that was different was that I liked boys."

"When did she come out?"

"Sixteen." 

Malcolm blew through his lips. 

"Wow. Tough." 

"Very. She struggled. But she got through somehow, she was doing her A Levels, and so was I. It didn't affect our friendship at all really. Then we lost touch a bit because she went off to Hull University and I stayed at home, travelling in for lectures. Afterwards though, we kinda picked up where we left off, you know?" 

"Aye. Good pals." 

"Exactly. The best. We always had a right laugh. She's such fun, and never a dull moment! Without her I wouldn't be here today. She gave me the courage to leave my marriage. Helped me no end. I'll never forget what she did for me." 

"No one in her life?" 

"Not at present, no. She had a girlfriend for a while, Lindsay, who went to Australia with her job. Then she met Hannah, and they were together for more than two years, but I think eventually they realised they wanted different things, so they went their separate ways. I think there's been a couple since then, but nothing really serious." 

"It was a great evening Liv. I'm so fucking lucky. Thank you." 

She dropped a kiss on the end of his nose. 

"You're welcome." 

"First time in five years I've celebrated my birthday." 

"Oh _Malc_!" She snuggled closer, and felt his hand tighten against her shoulder. 

"Last year I was working late. Tom Davis sent Sam in with a cake. It said 'Happy Birthday Cunt' on it." 

Liv squeaked with laughter. 

"I ate almost the entire thing." 

"What?" 

"Yeah. Gave a couple of slices to some people in the office, but I scoffed the rest. Made myself sick as a dog." 

"I'm not surprised!" 

"Sam refused to go home. Even though I told her to. Stayed with me till I went home myself. In fact we shared a cab." 

"That was nice.....and typical of Sam." 

"I reckon she fancied me......flattered myself she did anyway. Stupid twat." 

"Who you? Or her?" 

"Me of course." 

"Perhaps she did." 

"Nah! Wishful thinking on my part. Anyway, it would never have worked." 

"That's what she said." 

"She said that? To you? Fucking hell."

"Yes. She said you worked too closely as a team, and you wouldn't ever countenance it. A liaison in the workplace, not your style. Then she said she didn't really see you that way anyway, even though she had wondered a couple of times if you might.....well, you know." 

"I never looked at her that way either really, if I'm honest. She's lovely, don't get me wrong. But she was too close for comfort. It's like she knew all my skeletons, so I had to keep her at arms length. Strictly professional. We're closer in the last months than we've ever been." 

"She adores you Malcolm." 

"As a friend perhaps. Her James is a nice bloke though. Quiet at first, but livens up when he relaxes." 

"I think he was a little afraid of you. At first I mean." 

"Perhaps. He's got eyes only for her though, hey?" 

"Absolutely! Besotted I'd say." 

"Speaking of being besotted......" Malcolm wriggled himself onto his side, their bodies like two logs jammed facing each other, his nose now inches from hers."......don't suppose I can tempt you into a birthday fuck?" 

It was a testament to how far Liv had come, that he felt at ease enough to talk to her in this way, and that she would be able to giggle with him and not be in any way fazed by his banter. 

"Hmmmm! Well.....as I didn't buy you a present....." 

Reaching forwards he kissed her with great tenderness. 

"Fucking right." He whispered. "We can do it just like this if you want." 

"On our sides?"

"Yeah. Try it. See if you like it. Just hook your top leg over my hip......." 

She did as he suggested. 

As usual he was gentle, caressing her first, talking to her softly, urging her to voice any concerns she may have, or tell him if she wanted him to stop at any point. 

She didn't. 

At first it was strange. 

No one person's weight was taken by the other. 

Lying like this meant they could look at each other, kiss and touch easily, it was romantic. Intimate. More loving and less boisterous. Malcolm took it slow, easing himself into position. 

It took a bit of fumbling to get it right. 

"Don't knee me in the groin for fucks sake! Watch the family jewels!" He hissed, as she narrowly missed castrating him. 

It was a different angle of penetration, a new experience. 

Each time he moved forwards the sensations he produced within her were like nothing she'd felt from him before thus far, his glans rubbing against the soft tissues at the entrance to her vagina. There was less pressure on his shaft too, not quite such a strong sensation, making him able to last longer. 

His name was on her lips. Gasped out as he rocked his pelvis forward. Almost like a prayer. 

_"Malcolm."_

The feel of him sliding in and out, wet with her own arousal, pushing deeper into her each time was so good. Her top leg high on his hip bone. Being hooked over at the knee left her wider open for him, which was so exciting. 

Very soon she came undone, whispering to him for more. Reaching her height and pressing closer as he came within her. 

Together they lay without moving. Still joined. 

Breathing hard. 

"You like that?" He asked gently, as he calmed and his heartbeat slowed. 

"God yes! It was lovely." She breathed. "So sensual. I've never done it like that in my life before....." 

"I fucking love you Liv. I love loving you....." 

"You're teaching me new ways, I'm learning so much. About myself, about you. The way you make me feel, it's how it should feel.....it's amazing. I love you so much!" 

"Best fucking birthday ever!"


	30. Chapter Thirty.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trouble for Liv.....and Malcolm is rendered helpless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm learns a great deal in this chapter. He's used to mopping up splatter, troubleshooting, being in control. Now he's not. In fact he's told to back off and it's a hard thing for him to hear. The fact that he does it shows how far he's come, it also shows how devoted he is to Olivia. If there's one thing that is never in doubt in the show, as regards Malcolm's character, it's his loyalty. He is fiercely loyal, he may not always go about things in the right way, but his intentions are good and he works for the good of the party by and large.   
> Liv has also learnt a lot....about Malcolm. His love for her and how he'll stick by her side, no matter what, now that he is sure of her.

CHAPTER THIRTY. 

 

 _“At fifteen life had taught me undeniably that surrender, in its place, was as honorable as resistance, especially if one had no choice.”_  
― Maya Angelou, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

 

.............

Life settled down into a normal rhythm. 

Or at least as normal as life could ever be. 

A routine of working, eating and sleeping. Punctuated occasionally with pleasant interludes. 

For Malcolm, his time in the office was a little like having his finger nails forcibly removed one by one, or perhaps his teeth pulled without Novocaine.

He constantly questioned himself as to why he kept going. 

Olivia was a little different, in that she actually quite enjoyed her job, even though the department was now under the control of the Coalition, and therefore the staff now marched to a different drum.  
Yet a sense of unease was creeping over her. Heightened by the fact that she was asked to send over some pre-election figures for Jim Palmer's replacement at the Department of Agriculture and Fisheries.  
As the most experienced member of staff in her section, it fell to her to complete the task. 

After much hard work and much trepidation, she sent off the files. 

But it was with a strange sense of foreboding that she left DoSaC at the end of that working day. 

She and Malcolm spent increasing amounts of time at home together. 

There was hardly a night where they were not side by side. Either in his bed or hers. Their lives now inextricably linked. 

As they grew ever closer however, other things around them seemed to be slowly falling apart. 

oOo

"Liv? Can I have a word?" 

Looking up from her work, Liv regarded Tom's clouded expression. 

"What's wrong?" 

His eyes flicked to the door of his office, then back again. 

"Not here. It's a bit difficult." 

Without further ado, she switched her computer to standby, rose, and followed him with a puzzled expression. 

Other heads were raised as they passed. 

"Have a seat." Tom offered, as he closed the door firmly behind him. 

Liv caught his mood, and it put her instantly on her guard. 

"No thanks. I'd rather stand. What's this about?" 

"I've received an email from the Department of Agriculture and Fisheries. They are steaming." 

Liv raised her eyebrows independently. 

"Why?" She asked, a thrill of fear passing through her. 

"Well....I don't quite know how to put this.....but....." 

"Oh spit it out Tom for crying out loud!" Liv burst forth. "What the hell is the matter?" 

"The figures you sent over. They are a complete mess. Loads of inaccuracies. I mean I know you've had a lot on your mind lately and all the rest of it....." 

_"What?"_

He looked up at her pale face, his own full of sympathy. 

"Liv, don't be angry. I've been fighting your corner here. I told Terri I couldn't believe you'd make such a mistake, I know how conscientious you are normally." 

His rather condescending attitude rattled her. 

"I spent hours on those figures. I checked them and double checked them. They can't be wrong." 

"Well apparently there is some mistake, and all the calculations are out. They'll all have to be done again. The new Minister is furious and is calling for the head of _'the total incompetent arse who sent them'_. His words not mine." 

Olivia Williams was thinking furiously. Her mind tracking back over everything she'd done. 

"But I spent ages working through those, it would take days to check through them again...." she cried despairingly. 

Her mind refused to accept what it was being told. It had been a complicated task. Putting together the all trade figures for the past five years of government for that department. 

"May I see the file?" She held out her open palm. 

The hand remained suspended between them, her fingers beckoning. Insistent. 

A printed dossier was passed to her. 

She neither looked at it, nor made any attempt to exonerate herself. 

Feeling tears begin to prick, she turned in silence without waiting to be dismissed and left the room. 

Her superior trotted in her wake like a pet animal. 

Back at her desk, she logged into her computer and tapped, stabbing at the keys almost venomously. 

"I've taken file copies of every stage of my workings out." She stated factually. "Saved at the end of each day. It'll all be here. But it'll take me hours to find where the anomaly is, perhaps I typed a figure incorrectly, although I'm sure I checked each page once it was completed."

A vast spreadsheet popped up. 

Opening the first page, she scrolled through it, glancing up at the screen from time to time to confirm the accuracy. 

"I'll leave you to it." Tom said sheepishly, "but I expect Terri will want to see you. Apparently they were spitting chips over there."

"So I'm in trouble then? Christ Tom.....if I made a mistake it's a genuine one and I'm sorry. Why would I purposely put myself through having to do this all over again?" 

"I'm going to have a word with them, try to smooth things over. I've already told the Ag and Fish people that you are our best employee. That's why you were trusted with the job. But they were baying for blood." 

Liv was completely empty. Devoid of emotion. She felt as if the very soul had been sucked out of her.  
She'd never made an error like this before, always being most careful. 

Although it was not standard practice, she'd made personal back ups at the end of each day, and she decided to start checking them, beginning with the earliest date.  
Her idea was to gradually work forwards, hoping to pinpoint the problem. 

Settling down for what she guessed would be hours of mind numbing work. 

Pausing a moment she sent a text. 

_"Hi Malc. I'll be working late tonight. I don't know what I've done, but I've made a monumental mistake in those figures. I can't believe I've done it, or that I was so careless. But it looks like I'll be here until at least late evening."_

A reply flashed up quite quickly. 

_"Fucking fuck me! You want me to come over there when I'm done here? Maybe two heads will be better than one....if they'll let me into the building that is!!"_

_"No. It's ok. It's my mess and I'll have to sort it. Tom has been trying to deflect the shrapnel, but they are seriously pissed. Might even cost me my job."_

_"What?? Fuck off! They can't sack you for that! Jesus, if they sacked someone every time there's a balls up they'd have no staff left. Just tumbleweed blowing through...."_

_"Terri wants to see me ASAP apparently. I've got a really bad feeling about this Malcolm."_

A pause. 

_"Yeah. Me too. Something in the department of Agriculture and Fisheries smells of cow's shite and rotting haddock."_

In spite of herself, Liv couldn't stop the tears from coming. Hiding her head as best she could between the dividing screens of her work station, she began to sniffle. 

Another message popped onto her screen. 

_"Chin up love. It's not as bad as all that. You get on....I'll cook dinner and we'll thrash it out when you get to mine. Okay? Don't forget....I love you. xxx"_

On reading the last text, Liv chivvied herself and dried her eyes. Crying was no use. It would solve nothing. She must just get on with it. 

With a shrug of her shoulders, she jammed her specs onto her face, took a deep breath and began with Page One. 

She actually found the discrepancy quite quickly. 

Third page in. 

One whole column didn't add up, but when she compared her copy with the print out which she thought she'd sent over, she could see they weren't the same. 

The truth was beginning to dawn. 

Since there was no way that a copier could have changed the numbers by itself, her only conclusion was that someone had fiddled with the figures, then reprinted a new sheet and added it to the rest.  
It seemed impossible, but she could think of no other scenario that would fit the evidence before her eyes. 

The realisation hit her. 

Her heart almost stopped. A cold fist clutching it. 

It was pretty crudely done. 

A decimal point in the wrong place and two numbers inverted. It was enough to sabotage the entire file. Corrupting it beyond redemption.  
Anyone with a reasonable knowledge of computers could have done it. Then it was merely a matter of printing it off. 

Somehow, her legs didn't seem to want to carry her. Gathering the papers together she headed off to Tom's office. Entering without knocking. 

Almost throwing the sheaf of notes across his desk. 

"Look!" 

He looked. 

"It's been doctored." She spat. "And I bet that both you and I can guess by whom." 

Tom blanched.

"You know....normally I wouldn't do it, but I saved my work to my own memory stick each night because I was terrified of losing the data. I don't suppose _'they'_ expected that. What's been done is clever, but not clever enough. I have the evidence here. I've been set up Tom. My original print outs are correct. Page three has been tampered with then reprinted." 

"Oh Christ!" Her boss groaned, his head in his hands. 

"I'm lucky Malcom Tucker doesn't work here now. He'd flay my hide, hang, draw and quarter me, then spit on my macerated corpse as he walked passed." 

Olivia ignored his words, her mind was in such turmoil that she could barely think straight. 

Wendy had said to her, _'we're not done'_ , and she was right. 

It _had_ to be her work. Why else would anyone want to get her into trouble? 

There was only one way Liv could think of to thwart her. 

A single drastic action which she would never expect. 

She could put a stop to this, once and for all. It would not be allowed to continue. 

Was there no place where she would ever be free of the influence of her ex husband? Would he continue to fuck up her life at regular intervals from afar? 

It seemed crystal clear to her suddenly. Her thinking sharp and unfuddled. 

A complete break. 

"Will you come with me to see Terri?" She asked. 

"Of course." Tom replied earnestly. "But.....what will you say? I mean....they are friends....."

"I've no idea." She answered dolefully. "It'll work it out as I walk.....it's not what I'll say.....it's how I'll say it...." 

As she marched along, she formulated her plan. 

It was radical. It was possibly madness. It was almost certainly capitulation in one sense. 

But she didn't care. 

'God knows what Malcolm will say.' She thought idly, as she reached the bottom of the stairs. 

Crossing the floor she could see Terri at her computer. She was scrolling through pictures of Peter Mannion. 

A ball of derision and mocking laughter almost rose in her throat, but she swallowed it down.

"Terri. Hello. Can we talk please?" She asked as she reached the desk, watching her superior colour with embarrassment and flick over to screen saver. "In private." 

Tom, who had followed her down, hovered behind like a spare part. 

She turned to him. 

"I want Tom there too, if that's alright?" She said smartly. "He'll be affected indirectly by what I have to say." 

The three made their way to the interview suite. 

Robyn, Glenn and the others stopped work to look up as they walked purposefully passed. 

Once the glass door was closed, they took seats. Terri at one side of the desk, Tom and Liv on the other. 

Liv never felt more exposed in all her life. 

She had the impression of being naked and on display. Everyone on the floor able to see in. Whilst she knew they could not be heard, it was still as if they were in a shop window. 

"I expect you've heard about the fracas over the figures I sent." She opened. 

Terri frowned. Shaking her head in mock pity. 

"Yes. I'll admit I was surprised at you Olivia. So careless. But, I'm a fair person and...." 

"I quit." 

For a few seconds there was silence. 

It was drawn out, swirling around them like a toxic vapour before dissipating in the air, resonating for more moments whilst no one spoke. 

"You wh.......?" 

"You heard me. You will receive my formal tender of resignation in your in-tray within the hour." 

Tom stared at her, aghast. 

"But Liv.....this is ridiculous.....you've been stitched up. Anyone can see that. She should be disciplined, sacked even. It's crazy. She'll get away with it....again." 

He turned to Terri in despair. 

"Seriously Terri....talk to her.....if you take Wendy's side on this one I'll fucking resign myself. I know it's her. You know it's her. She can't hide behind her friends and colleagues anymore...." 

Liv interrupted. 

"I think you'll find I have leave owing. It probably adds up to most of the equivalent of a notice period. At the end of the week I'll hand in my photo ID badge, my car park permit and my office issue lap top. I assume I can leave it to you to sort out my Civil Service pension entitlement and severance pay?" 

Rising, she pushed back her chair. 

Tom stayed her, his hand on her arm. His face stricken. 

"Please Liv. I beg you. Don't make this decision now. Take time to think about it. Don't be rash.....don't let her win." 

The eyes that looked into his were hard as flint. 

"We're done here." She said flatly, breaking free of his grip. 

oOo

Malcolm's private phone jangled unexpectedly. 

He was alone in his office, eating a sandwich. 

"Hi sweetheart. You sorted out the shitstorm yet?" 

There was a brief silence. He could hear rapid breathing, as if she were struggling for each inhale. 

"Liv? You alright." 

"I'm outside your building, in the street." Came the tiny voice. 

"Stay where you are. I'll come down." 

Malcolm rang off and was running through the corridors, scattering all in his wake. 

Sam, who saw him go, wondered what on earth was up, but didn't have time to enquire. 

Down in the lift. Across the foyer, tie flapping. Out through the revolving doors. 

He reached her side in a flurry, finding her leaning against the wall, panting for breath. 

"What the fuck has happened?" He took her arm, almost supporting her, as she looked so pale he thought she might faint. 

"I've handed in my notice. Malcolm, I've quit." She choked out, then slumped against him. 

oOo

He'd called a cab. Taken her back to her own place. 

There she sat, like a lost child, bereft and silent. Her hands folded in her lap. 

Kettle on. He made tea. 

Now he was pacing. 

Incandescent with rage. 

Not at her, but on her behalf. 

"I can't believe you just quit like that! Rolled over! Let that fucking bitch get the better of you." He ranted. 

"It was my decision." 

Her tone was quiet and subdued. 

Malcolm held up his hands in incredulity. 

"But why didn't you fucking talk to me first? At least to give you some advise." 

"For god's sake stand still Malcolm, you're making me dizzy! I didn't call you because I didn't want you to talk me out of it." 

"But Christ! It means she's won! She'll be fucking cock-a-hoop." 

"I don't care Malcolm." 

"But your job! For fucks sake. You love your job.....to walk away, just like that. With hardly a moments thought?"

Liv gave a sigh. 

She was neither angry, as he was, nor pumped for a fight. 

"I walked away from my marriage too remember? In just the same way. Everyone said I'd go under, that I was making the worst choice of my life. They were wrong. And I'm still here. In spite of it all." 

"Fucking hell!" Malcolm's hands were in his hair, tugging at it alarmingly. "I'm so fucking angry. I want to thump something." 

"Well I'm not. We are different Malcolm. You would fight tooth and nail. You would show everyone that Malcolm Tucker means business and is not to be messed with. I'm not like you." 

"But to just give in........." he groaned. 

"Don't you see....it's the best possible thing? I'm not interested in retribution. She hasn't won. Not at all. Because I've removed myself from her sphere of influence. She won't be able to get at me anymore. I've spoilt her fun. Once I'm gone I won't have to think about her at all. Why should I defend myself against her? I've nothing to say to her whatsoever. Revenge is a dish best served cold. That's what they say. Let her have her little triumph. I really don't care." 

"I can't believe she's destroyed you like this, and she's been allowed to do it. By _YOU!_ It fucking does my fucking head in." Both his fists were clenched. "I won't rest until I've screwed her good and proper. I'll sodding well finish her. You mark my words." 

He commenced pacing rapidly again. 

"Malcolm....I forbid you to do anything." She rose to her feet, caught him and clutched his arms strongly. "Do you hear me? You are _not_ to go on a trail of vengeance." Her eyes locked with his and held them firm.  
"If you go against my wishes then you and I are over. You are not my guardian, I am an adult. I can make decisions for myself and I can decide my own future. Please. I'm asking you. Don't meddle." 

His face registered shock. 

"You're fucking kidding?" 

"No Malcolm. I'm not kidding. I insist you leave it be. I want no more hatred. No more manipulation, no more looking over my shoulder. The only thing you can help me with, is that I may have to throw myself on your mercy if I don't get a new job quickly......otherwise I'm destitute." 

She was serious. She meant it. Worse still, she was right and he knew it. She wasn't a child, and here she was, standing in front of him, small but determined.  
He fucking loved her so much right at this moment.  
Boy! This was a real relationship. Proper grown up! 

Fucking hell, Malcolm wanted to weep. 

Tugging her into him, he hugged her, holding her close. 

"You think I'd see you on the fucking streets, you silly girl?" He almost sobbed out. "I'll take care of you, you can count on me. Always. Oh for _fucks_ sake....." 

His voice wobbled with emotion. 

"It would only be bills and such, just for a while perhaps. I'll pay you back." Her words were muffled by the wool of his coat, which he still wore, pressed so close to him as she was. 

"I don't want you to pay me back! Fucking fuck me! I love you. More than my own bloody life. I'd do anything for you. Give you the shirt off my back. You know that, right?" 

Pulling back, she looked up into his face. 

"Oh _Malcolm!_ I love you too. So much. This is the right thing for me. I know it. I can feel it. To be able to step away, not look back. It's a huge relief. Just as it was the final time I left my marital home. I felt like a ton weight was lifted." 

"I'm sure I can pull some strings. There'll be a post for you with us.....with me....." 

Her hand cupped his cheek lovingly. 

"Bless you. No Malc. I need a clean break. No more Civil Service. No more politics and all that goes with it. I shall look elsewhere. I want no favours, no handouts, no leg up the ladder. I'll find something under my own steam, on my own merit. We'll both be the better for it. I promise. Wendy Draper and my ex won't be able to touch me. Their reign has ended. I'm free." 

Malcolm gave in. Leaning down he kissed her hard on the mouth. Long, slow and deep.  
She sank into him, allowing him to devour her. 

When they finally split apart they were both breathing in harsh gasps. 

"I respect your decision sweetheart. You're doing what's right for you. Fuck but you are SO strong! You're amazing. There's no fucking way I could have done what you've done, but I understand it takes more strength to do it than to stay. Much more. Jesus, I should do the same, but I don't have half the bollocks you have."

"Walking away is hard, but fighting is a waste of precious energy. Let her think she's won. Much good will it do her. I don't care what she thinks of me, she doesn't know me." 

"Darl. You have more integrity in your pinkie than she has in her whole body. She has no idea the trouble she's caused. It'll backfire on her big time. You mark my words. The Service is a tight knit community. She's had a whole floor put in an official complaint about her conduct. She was transferred in a blatant sideways move. Her days are numbered if this gets out. And it will. Gossip will move like wildfire. You won't have to do a damn thing. She's just set light to her own fucking keks."

Glancing at his watch, he pulled a face. 

"Fuck it. I've gotta get back. You'll be okay now......on your own? Come round to mine later, I'll cook you dinner....or I'll come back after work.....and do it here?" 

Her smile was so warm, it melted his anger clean away. 

"Come back here." She whispered. "But I'll make us something nice. I have all afternoon after all!" 

He kissed her again, dropping a peck on the tip of her nose as an afterthought. 

"Will do." He said. "See you later, I won't be late." 

They walked to her front door together. 

"Thank you Malc. For being there for me." 

"Always." He smiled, and was gone.


	31. Chapter Thirty-One.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year down the line and forging a new life, a phone call out of the blue throws Liv into a panic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time has moved on, it is now a year after the events of the last chapter, so we are drawing nearer to the time when series four begins. 
> 
> There are momentous changes. Malcolm and Liv are moving forwards together as a couple.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE. 

 

 _“We gradually accepted each other with our strengths and weaknesses. And now, I think, we have started to enjoy our differences more”_  
― Swati Kumar, The Great Indian Dilemma

..............

 

........ _a year later_.......

 

Malcolm heaved down a large box and began taping it up. 

Liv staggered in carrying a bulging suitcase. 

"Write on the box with sharpie!" She called. "Otherwise I won't have a clue what's in there." 

He looked up with an expression which said _'do you think I'm an idiot?'_ Then saw what she was toting. 

"Liv, What the fuck are you doing? I told you to leave those cases for me, you'll do yourself a fucking mischief." 

Placing down her heavy burden, she wiped her brow with the back of her hand. Then put her hands on her hips, staring around her at the emptied room, filled only with brown cardboard boxes and tea chests. 

She gave a puff. 

"You alright?" 

Malcolm was at her side in a second. 

"Yeah." She nodded, moving in for a hug. "Big day tomorrow. Can't really believe it." 

"No regrets I hope." He seemed troubled, unsure and his voice showed it. 

"No. None. But there are memories in this little house. The day you came round to help smash the old kitchen. Remember that?" 

She felt a tug, bringing her closer. 

"Course I do. I recall the first time I ever held you in my arms. In that new kitchen. After your ex smashed this window." 

He nodded towards it, and kissed the top of her head. 

Pulling back she looked up at his face, the expression clouded as the thoughts rushed in upon her. 

"First time we kissed too.....standing pretty much right here." 

"Fuck! Yeah. Before the election. Jesus, that was a long time ago." 

"I'll remember that kiss forever, like it's imprinted on my brain. It was the most wonderful thing I'd ever experienced." 

His body shook with laughter. 

"Yep, that's me. Malcolm Tucker the fucking love God." 

Her hand stroked his face lovingly. 

"To me you are. What a lot of firsts in this house." She smiled wistfully. "We made love for the first time....upstairs in my bed. And I was so afraid. It seems like a lifetime ago somehow." 

Dipping his head he found her lips and kissed her sweetly. 

"I think I was almost as scared as you were. Like a fucking virgin teenager, fumbling about!" 

"No you weren't. You were kind, and you were gentle. And I knew then that I'd always be with you. That I'd always love you. I don't really believe in fate, but someone was smiling down when you bought me a drink at that party. And here we are. Look at us now!" 

She swept her arms in a circle as if to emphasise.

A deep sigh was released from Malcolm, accompanied by a doubtful shake of the head. 

"Still don't know why you fucking put up with me." 

"Probably because you put up with me!" She giggled. "Somehow it just works." 

Loosening her hold on him, she stepped away. Looking about her. 

"Well. I think that's the last of it. Nowt more to do now until tomorrow morning when the van arrives." 

...........

Malcolm's footsteps echoed through the empty rooms, resonating on the bare floor. 

Rooms full of memories, all of them happy ones for him. 

It was a huge step she was taking. 

Agreeing to move in with him. 

His heart was so full. 

In truth she practically lived with him anyway, but this was a 'no going back' scenario. 

Glancing outside he could see the board, hammered onto a wooden stake in the front garden. 

'SOLD'. 

The place had been snapped up. A good price too. Desirable residence. 

Malcolm Tucker had never really dared to imagine this day. 

Whilst they still clung to elements of their separate lives there was always a chance she could run. 

Part of him feared it. 

Now it was less likely. 

Never wholly sure that one day she wouldn't find him out. That it was all a dream and she'd up and leave. 

It surprised him how unsentimental she'd been about selling the vast majority of her furniture. Keeping only the small pieces that were particularly precious and would fit nicely into his place. 

"It's just 'stuff' Malcolm." She'd assured him. 

He'd got rid of some things too, to make room for items of hers which would look perfect placed into his home, or which she was particularly attached to. 

The decluttering process had been most cathartic. 

Improved his abode no end.

A woman's touch. 

Gold dust. 

She had transformed his life in so many ways. Brought him peace of mind, at least in his day to day living.  
Work was still much the same, but he endured it because he was too afraid to cut himself loose.

One thing at a time. 

He couldn't cope with more. 

When he looked back on how he was before she came, he could only remember pain. 

A bitter, miserable man. Beaten down by life's blows. Punch drunk and booze drunk in equal measure. 

Until he sought help and tried to claw his way back. 

Now, here he was. A better, more complete man. With Liv at his side. 

Somehow he felt, that no matter what happened to him in the future on the work front, ultimately he'd be okay. 

_They'd_ be okay. 

"Ready?" 

She'd entered quietly behind him as he mused, gazing unseeing out of the lounge window. 

Turning, he smiled at her, his nose crinkling in that disarming way, which never failed to make her heart leap within her breast. 

"Ready." He nodded. 

The door closed with an air of finality, locked behind her, she paused a moment to look back. 

He allowed her the time, his arm comfortingly around her shoulder. 

After a few seconds she gave a puff, not of resignation but of acceptance. Moving on. 

"Let's go." She said. 

oOo

Olivia did not have to rely Malcolm's charity for long. 

Tom provided her with excellent references. 

She was however, unaware that Malcolm contacted him and impressed upon him that it was the least he could do!  
Although he didn't use quite those words! In fact, castration and/or removal of body hair one at a time with tweezers was mentioned. 

Her new job was with an IT and web design company based just outside the City. 

A small outfit, with a close knit workforce, into which she slotted seamlessly. 

She'd been working there for nine months now, and was a good deal happier as a result. 

Sometimes things just happen for the best, and on this occasion, she knew the decision she'd made was the right one. 

.........

Malcolm's eyes squinted against the sun. His hand held to his brow to shade them. The fact he was wearing shades on top of his head did not escape Liv's amusement. 

It was warm enough for him to have his arms out, a short sleeved T shirt the order of the day. A rare sight.  
His pale skin pinkened quickly, prompting Liv to smother him liberally with sun screen. 

Malcolm submitted to this indignity with poor grace. 

"I'm not fucking four." He complained bitterly as she ministered to him. 

"You're not Enrique Iglesias either." She retorted smartly. 

"Fucking funny." He huffed, as she booped the end of his nose with a dob of cream. 

"Hey!" 

"Rub that in!" She scolded. "Your big schnoz is like a beetroot." 

"Fucks sake." He grumbled, doing as he was told. 

At the water's edge were two children with kayaks. Boy and girl. Their excited chatter drifting to his ears as they were fastened into lifejackets by their father. 

The loch was as calm as a millpond. Tiny ripples reaching the shore with a gentle sigh. 

Liv sat on the blanket close beside him, her arm threaded through his. 

"I love you." She whispered. 

Turning towards her he seemed dazed. 

"Fuck knows why." He responded. 

"Because with you I'm always myself. I never have to pretend. Honesty. It's all I've ever wanted, and I have it with you." 

She wasn't looking at him. Her eyes fixed on the gently lapping water. Observing the youngsters antics with a smile, as they capered about, waving their paddles at each other, before turning towards where the two of them sat, calling back. 

"Come watch us Uncle Malc! Take our picture!" 

Now seated in his own craft, Malcolm's brother-in-law pushed away from the stony beach, using his paddle as a lever.  
The three lined themselves up as Malcolm heaved himself to his feet and ambled down to the waterline. 

"Hang on. I'm coming!"

Holding out his phone carefully between finger and thumb. 

"Ready? Say haggis!" 

"HAGGIS!!" They chorused. 

As they all set off Malcolm wandered along the waters edge, just keeping his feet dry, phone held out in front of him. 

"I'm filming you!" He cried."Keep paddling." 

Beside him, giving her husband and offspring a cheery wave, Malcolm's sister wiped tears from her eyes as she turned away and went back to the blanket where they'd set up camp. 

Plonking herself down next to Liv now, trying to disguise her sniffles, she busied herself with cups and a thermos. 

"He looks so different, I can't get over it." She remarked softly, her Scots burr less harsh than that of her sibling. 

Shrieks and gales of laughter reached them. Ben was paddling in circles, Katie shouting at him to use one side of his paddle at a time to straighten up.  
Her concentration absorbed by the hilarious spectacle playing itself out in front of her, Liv didn't immediately reply. 

"Sorry." She apologised."I wasn't listening. What did you say?"

"I _said_ , he looks different. You've changed him." 

Liv frowned and shook her head. 

"I've done nothing Kath. Other than love him.....the change, if indeed there is any, is due to him himself." 

"I'm so glad you persuaded him to come, and I'm so grateful. You've given me my brother back. And my kids their much loved uncle." 

"Kath, that really isn't my doing either. Malcolm is not a person who can be persuaded to do anything. In fact, to suggest such a thing would be far more likely to turn him against the idea, so I can't take any credit. It had to be him. He had to want it, and be ready for it. No amount of cajoling by me would have made the slightest bit of difference. You ought to know that." 

His sister shrugged. 

"I suppose you're right! Just like our Dad. Well, I'm glad anyway. And I'm sure that if he hadn't met and fallen for you, then we wouldn't be sitting here now." 

"Perhaps. But I think he was frightened. I think the longer time went on, the more difficult he found it to make the move. He told me he didn't want your lovely children to have a drunk for an uncle. I can kinda understand why he'd think that. He blames himself for everything, his marriage failing, his perceived weakness, his drinking. Everything." 

"He's stayed sober?" 

Kathy handed a steaming cup to her new found friend. 

"Yes. Since the Election Day. I think it was very tough at first, always a niggle in the back of his mind, but he's so determined. Last time he managed almost three years, so he has a goal to look towards. He needs a target. Our relationship has given him a new purpose perhaps, but I think it was always within him. He desperately wants to win. To beat it. He's always had clear objectives, but since the election he's been somewhat cast adrift. I know things aren't good at work, he's not happy. The job is tedious now, he's surrounded by incompetence, constantly watching his own back, he's afraid for his political future. Trouble is, it's all he knows, that life, and we both fear there is something bad on the horizon." 

"Thank god he's found you." Her arm was squeezed. "I love my brother so very much, and I've missed him. We were so close growing up. He always looked out for me. Then as we grew older, he loved the children so, he always wanted a family of his own, he was so great with mine. They've missed him dreadfully." 

Liv smiled. 

"I'm sure he missed them too. But I also think he did what he thought was right, even though it may not have been the wisest choice. He was ashamed Kathy. Broken. He didn't want the children to see that. He was trying to protect them, at whatever cost to himself." 

As she finished speaking she could see Malcolm walking back towards them. 

His step was light, head up, striding purposefully. 

Since being here in Scotland his shoulders had relaxed. His face less pinched and more apt to smile. 

He needed this holiday. Desperately. 

A break from the mundane, the routine, the everyday. 

Together they'd travelled up to the Highlands. Liv marvelling at the views, the mountains, the lochs and glens.

Visiting Edinburgh for a couple of days, exploring, enjoying the snap of good weather. 

Then his birthplace of Glasgow, the city of his youth, all his old haunts.  
It was as if he delighted in introducing her to elements of his former life. 

Liv embraced every second. Learning more and more about the man she'd grown to love so much. 

Malcolm seemed so at home here. He fitted somehow. Wandering the hilly streets, shopping centre, art gallery, the river Clyde, the Green.  
Slotting back into this place as if it were in his bones. 

Meeting up with his sibling, his niece and nephew had been an unexpected bonus. 

Driving out of the city along the familiar Keppochhill Road, through the old industrial area and on towards Bishopbriggs.  
It was is if the car knew it's own way.  
Past the house where his parents had moved when their fortunes rose sufficiently to leave the old sandstone blocks behind. 

Here, his sister still resided. 

Literally turning up unannounced on their doorstep. 

Liv wasn't sure if Malcolm had made the conscious decision to visit her beforehand, or if it had been entirely unplanned. She suspected the latter. 

He'd been nervous and jittery all day. Presumably building up the courage. 

She was just thrilled it happened. 

On opening her front door his sister Kathy burst into tears at the sight of him. 

"MALCOLM!" She cried, flinging her arms around him and almost knocking him off his feet. 

It had taken more than half an hour to calm herself. 

She would not leave his side. Holding him as if she were clinging to the last remaining life raft. Malcolm tried his best to make light of it. Joking at her extreme reaction. 

"Christ sis....you're wetting the fleece here! I get it okay! You're pleased to see me!" 

"Oh Malcolm! You have no idea!" She sobbed. 

As for Liv herself, she was immediately drawn in to the sacred circle. Welcomed as if she were some kind of heroine or saviour, definitely one of the family.  
For a while this threw her, being unused to receiving gratitude for something which she felt she didn't deserve, although she soon rallied, and finally accepted their approbation. 

Now, here they were. 

On a weekend away, all together. 

Family reunited. 

"They've disappeared round the headland!" Malcolm pointed, before shoving his hands into his pockets. "I filmed them.....sent it to your what's app Kath." 

He seated himself in between the two women. Bending his long legs round beneath him. 

"Any of that tea left for me?" 

Liv handed him a cup to hold while she poured carefully. 

"It's such a lovely day." She breathed. "And what a beautiful spot." 

Kathy put her arms around her brother from the side for the umpteenth time, leaning her head on his shoulder with a sigh. 

"Katie and Ben are so thrilled you're here." She whispered. "Oh Malcolm, please promise me you won't cut us off again......I was so bereft without you." 

Malcolm smiled, now accustomed to her spontaneous displays of affection, patting her arm which was a tight, breath stealing band around his chest, reassuringly. 

"I promise, okay!" He murmured. 

"And you'll come for Christmas? Both of you? The kids would be ecstatic....." 

His laugh was the genuine laugh he gave, when a little wheeze came from his throat, not the false chuckle which he could put on when he was really far from amused. 

"Alright!" He cried. Holding up his hands, fettered as they were at the elbow by her death grip, as if in surrender. "For fucks sake! If it makes you happy, I'll come." 

Kathy turned to Liv. 

"You wouldn't mind?" She asked. "We'd so love to have you." 

Liv took her hand and held it firm. 

"If it makes Malcolm happy.....then I'm happy too." She replied with genuine warmth.

Looking at brother and sister, both beaming, told Liv all she needed to know.  
It was not a hard decision to make. The siblings needed each other every bit as much as she and Malcolm did.  
In agreeing she was sacrificing nothing. The bond between them had been mended. It needed to happen.  
How could she possibly deny them a time of togetherness? 

"It'll be great fun. Life is too short to be apart from those we love." 

Malcolm gave her one of his lopsided sideways winks. 

oOo

Liv had become the glue which held Malcolm together. 

He wasn't sure how it happened, he was afraid to analyse it, he just knew that as long as she was there he'd be okay.  
Now that she lived with him, coming home was a pleasure. 

Her presence strengthened his resolve, bolstered him up, gave him the determination to carry on when, as he predicted, everything went tits up.  
Had he been alone, he would have succumbed, sinking without trace.  
In the coming months and years he came to thank God that she did. Without the mental well being he derived from their relationship he knew he would never have survived, and looking back from a point in the future, he was sure he owed his very existence to the power of her love. 

Quite simply, she made his world a happier place to be. 

............

When the phone call came through, Liv was in the middle of sorting client invoices. 

Her colleague, with one hand over the mouthpiece, called to her. 

"Liv! There's a call for you. A Wendy Draper. You want to take it there?" 

If the look on her friend's face was anything to go by, the secretary would have said it was as if she'd heard a voice from beyond the grave. 

"You okay?" She asked, concerned. 

"Yes. I'm fine. I'll take it in the staff room." 

Rising, flustered, Olivia hurried out. 

Why was Wendy ringing her? More to the point, how did she know where to find her? What could she possibly want now? More mischief?

Her thoughts tumbled. 

When she lifted the receiver in the privacy of the coffee room, her hands were shaking violently. 

_"Hello?"_

Trying to keep her tone even and unconcerned. It was impossible. 

_"Olivia? It's Wendy. I apologise for calling you at work."_

_"What do you want? How did you find me?"_ Her words were clipped and sharp. Almost demanding. 

_"Tom told me."_

Liv was furious almost beyond speech. 

_"He shouldn't have done that."_ She snapped. 

_"Blame me. I persuaded him. Listen, this isn't a social call, but I need to see you. Would you be prepared to meet me?"_

Hardly able to comprehend what she was hearing, Liv spluttered a response. 

_"Why the fuck would I do that? After what you did to me? You've got a bloody nerve!"_

_"I'm sorry. I don't know what else I can say. But it's important I speak to you, I know you have no reason to hear me, but I wanted to try. Please."_

_"Wendy, you made my life a misery, you bullied me, then when you were moved elsewhere you tried to fit me up. Why in the name of everything that's holy would I want to see you, let alone even speak to you on the phone.....especially now I know you cajoled my ex colleague into revealing my private information to you? What could you possibly have to say to me that I would want to hear?"_

_"Please Olivia. It's not been easy for me to call you. Believe me, you would not be the person I would choose to ring were there a hundred choices. But I need to speak to someone, and you're the only one who'll understand."_

_"What the heck are you talking about? You hate my guts yet only I will understand you? I don't get it."_

The voice on the other end of the line was strained and small. Liv didn't need to be a clairvoyant to know there was something seriously wrong.

Even in the turmoil of her mind, a tiny corner remained calm. 

_"Alright."_ She agreed with great reluctance . _"I'll meet you. But one sniff of your old ways and I'm outa there understand? Where?"_

_"Somewhere near Whitehall would be best for me."_

_"No! It's too far. I have work to do, I'll meet you in The Lamb in Leadenhall Market. It's nearer my office."_

_"Fair enough. Shall we say 1?"_

_"1pm is fine."_

...........

Liv's stomach was tied in knots. Filled with butterflies. Scared shitless. 

Her hands were clammy and her brow a sheen of perspiration. 

Although she was undoubtedly afraid, she was also mystified. 

Why had Wendy sought her out so particularly? 

More to the point, why had Liv even agreed to this meeting? 

Was it because part of her was intrigued? That she enjoyed putting herself through hell for no reason? 

No. It was neither of those things. 

It was Wendy's voice. It was because she'd called her sworn enemy in spite of herself. Being the last person she should wish to contact, and yet she felt she must. 

The call brought back a memory. The day she'd lifted the receiver and called Fiona. Asking if they could meet in the coffee shop.  
The day she'd finally told another soul everything that had happened to her. 

Crossing the road Liv reached The Lamb and entered, ordering herself a stiff G&T.  
Scanning the saloon bar there was no sign of her nemesis, so she settled herself at a table to wait.  
Her eyes fixed on the door. 

It was only a few moments before Wendy entered. 

She didn't look outwardly different. Same sharp power dressing. Same red lipstick. Her walk was the familiar click clack of heels as she searched the room, her gaze settling on the table where Liv waited impatiently. 

Before coming over, she procured herself a whiskey and soda. Carrying it over, the ice cubes clinking against the side of the tumbler. 

"Thank you for coming." She said, as she took her seat opposite. 

"What's this about? Why am I here?" Liv was brusque to say the least. Nothing could force her to keep her tone light. 

 

.........

 

Malcolm had never been more pleased to put his key in the lock and open his own front door. 

He felt desperately tired, haggard even. 

Coat on the hook, keys in the dish. Levering off his left shoe at the heel with his other foot, then his right, kicking them aside with a puff. 

Normally there might be music playing softly, or the chat on the television. Sometimes the sound of a pan clattering, or sizzling from the kitchen accompanied by wafts of dinner on the go. 

Today there was silence. 

"Liv?" He called down the hallway. 

She was seated on the sofa with her back to him. 

Not lounging comfortably as she would usually be, but bolt upright. Her hands trapped between her knees.  
She'd been crying. 

That much was obvious. 

Large, swimming eyes looked up at him as he entered, seating himself beside her. A comforting arm went straight around her shoulder. 

"Darling." He whispered. "What is it? What's happened?" 

All his own fears and anger from the day dissipated instantly. His love was upset. What the fuck did Nicola fucking Murray matter compared to that? 

She leaned her head against him. Pale face wet with tears, new ones springing to join those that had already fallen. 

"What is it sweetheart? Tell me." 

"I had a call from Wendy Draper today." 

The voice was small, almost like a child's. Punctuated by growing sobs, like a valve released. 

Malcolm's ire rose up at the sound of that name.

"What the _fuck_? What did she want?" Loosening his grip, he leaned forward so he could look into her face. "That fucking woman and I are going to have a showdown. Twenty paces. Hands on our holsters. I'll fucking shoot her down." 

A little hand clutched his arm. Her head shaking violently. 

" _No!_ No, you mustn't. Oh Malcolm. He's done it again." 

She broke like a bone china cup. Shattering against him into a thousand pieces. 

Weeping as she had the night he'd found her sitting in the shower cubicle, when she thought she was too afraid to have sex with him.  
He hadn't a clue what she was talking about, but right now she was unable to speak, so he held her tight and hushed her, stroking her hair.  
Waiting. 

Patient. 

"It's alright. Whatever it is, we'll sort it. Don't cry sweetheart." 

Some five minutes later, Liv was calmer. Sniffling into a tissue. Leaving her he put the kettle on. This amount of tears required a seriously large mug of tea. 

Returning to her side he handed her the cup of steaming brew, watching carefully as she took a grateful, tentative sip. 

"Better?" 

Of course it wasn't really. Tea did not cure anything whatsoever, but sometimes it was the act of making it. The loving gesture. The sharing of a hot beverage designed to bring comfort. Sipping it drew the mind away from the pain. Feeling the steam against your pores, the taste of tannin, trying to drink something whilst it was still far too hot. Feeling the warmth go down. The combination of those things were somehow restorative. 

She nodded, placing the mug on the coffee table. 

"Now then. What's it all about? What's Wendy bitch Draper done this time?" 

"Nothing Malc. She's done nothing. It's _Him_." 

"Him? Him who?" 

"My ex." 

She dissolved again momentarily, until she could bring herself under control once again. 

Suddenly Malcolm understood. She really didn't have to say more. 

"Oh fuck." He whispered. 

"Same pattern." Liv murmured, her head drooping as if in shame. "Just like with me." 

"Shit! What did you say to her?" 

"What _could_ I say? I told her how sorry I was. I gave her a hug." 

"Jesus Liv. That was a nice thing to do, after what she's done to you. And she didn't see it coming?"

"No more than I did. No." 

"Fucking hell Liv. He's a total cunt. He needs to be stopped." 

"That's why she wanted to see me." 

"She's reporting him?" 

"Yes. She's much braver than I ever was." 

"That's fucking crap Liv. You are stronger than any other woman I know." 

"She wants me to go to the police too. Give evidence. A statement. It's bound to go to court. I might have to stand as a witness against him." 

The heartrending sobs that came from her, the way her body trembled, the way she clung to Malcolm, told him all he needed to know. 

"You don't want to?" 

"No." 

"Because you're afraid? Of him?" 

"No." 

"What then?" 

"Because it'll rake it all up again. Make me relive it. I've managed to move past it. Love again. Move on. I've left it behind me. All the pain, all the memories, all the fear. It bubbles under the surface but I can hold it in now. I force it down and I don't allow it to come out any more. I've placed it into a box marked 'DEALT WITH', locked the padlock and buried it in concrete. I want it to stay there." 

"I understand." 

"Without my testimony Wendy is afraid they'll rip her to shreds. Her raunchy past, those art photos, all that stuff will come out. He'll say she led him on. Or that she's doing it for his money. Mixed signals....whatever." 

"You could give a written testament. Or even a video interview. You don't necessarily have to physically go into the court room itself. You wouldn't have to sit there facing him." 

"She lost her job Malcolm. Been demoted. The fit up with those figures was his idea. She told me. To get back at me for the restraining order. My punishment. That was when he really started to manipulate her. She said she didn't even realise it was happening, not really. Suddenly she found herself doing things to please him....then he did to her what he did to me......oh Malcolm......I can't go through all that again! I just can't." 

"Darling. It's entirely up to you what you decide. I'm not going to attempt to influence you." 

Raising her head she looked into his eyes, they were soft and kind, his brow furrowed with concern. The depth of his love was written there for her to see.

"But he needs to be stopped." 

Malcolm nodded his agreement. 

"Yes. Yes he does." 

With a sigh he drew her close to him, bringing their lips together gently. 

Each time was still the same for her. The same thrill, the same lurch of unbridled joy rushing through her, in spite of her present circumstance. An urge to strengthen the connection, make it last longer, wanting more, until a familiar warmth crept into her core.  
The heat of arousal. Breaking away, gasping. 

She whispered hotly into his ear. "Take me to bed Malcolm. Please. I need you." 

...........

 

Malcolm's empty stomach growled alarmingly. 

Olivia stirred in his arms, hauling herself up from where she lay almost on top of him. 

"Oh God!" She exclaimed, realisation hitting. "You've had no dinner. You must be starving." 

He gave a little chuckle from deep in his chest cavity. 

"I've just eaten." 

A giggle and a small punch to the upper arm was her reply, as she settled herself beside him again. 

His fingers were gently caressing the cusp of her bare shoulder, stroking over and around the top of her arm. A kiss placed on the top of her head. 

"What are you going to do?" He enquired softly. 

"I'll go to the police. Make a statement. But I'll not testify. I can't." 

"Fair enough." 

She snuggled back against his warm body. The breath within him calmed now in the aftermath of some pretty frantic love making.  
Her hand was resting on his breastbone. Feeling the pound of his heart against her fingertips. 

"How was your day?" Her voice was wistful. Lost in the post coital hum of fading lust. 

"Shite." 

"In what way?" 

"Oh it's nothing important." 

Malcolm gave a protracted sigh. Clearly it was. 

"Of course it's important." She raised her head, looking down at him. 

"Please tell me.....I want to know.....I love you." 

He reached up and touched her cheek, allowing his finger tips to slide down to her chin. 

"So fucking beautiful." He murmured, giving a little smile. 

"Don't change the subject!" She scolded. "What happened at the fuck office today?" 

"It's small fry really. But with the potential to become a thorn in my side, in all our sides." 

"Oh?" 

Malcolm shifted himself so that he could snuggle closer without cutting off the blood supply to his arm. The feel of her cooling skin next to his made anything that had blighted his day seem to fade somehow. 

"It's this fucking mental nurse. Douglas Tickel. He was made homeless when his key worker housing was sold off. So he decided to pitch a tent outside the building to protest against the policy. Well, it hit the headlines big time. Press were all over it. Our new fucking wank arse government were all over him like a rash. Calling him a "fucking nutbag" stuff like that." 

"Nice! Let me guess....Emma Messenger?" 

"How'd you know?" 

"It's the sort of thing she'd say. I don't like her much." 

"Me neither, but that's beside the point." 

"So? What happened? Shit hit the fan?" 

"You could say that! He's committed suicide." 

"Oh my god! Oh, Malcolm that's awful!" She sat up, the horror on her face. 

"It's not going to end well Liv. I can feel it........"


	32. Chapter Thirty-Two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another year has gone by. Malcolm and Liv are both recalling the past and thinking of the future, in their own ways, separately, one downstairs, one upstairs......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This final chapter takes place after the Goolding Enquiry. I was really sure in my mind that I didn't want to write the Enquiry again. It would have meant repeating myself from stories I've written in the past. Something which I try to avoid doing at all costs if I possibly can. Besides, the aftermath was really more important to this particular tale, so it wasn't necessary to write it. (Not to mention that it would probably have taken 10 chapters to describe it all!!) 
> 
> This final chapter is all about the future. Which is far more important for both of them than dwelling on things past.  
> They've both come through an awful year, they've both emerged stronger and more together and they are both now finally able to move on with their lives and be happier for it.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO. 

 

 _“Almost lost you," he thought, surprised to find himself blinking back tears. "Been through too much, me and you. We're going to finish this thing together.”_  
― Brom, The Child Thief

 

..................

 

.............. _Another year has passed_........

.............. _Malcolm is musing on the previous 12 months_.........

 

Throughout his life Malcolm had never really liked to analyse too closely the things that happened to him. 

They just happened. Out of his control. 

Occasionally he railed against the inevitable, fighting tooth and claw, but ultimately it was fruitless.

His relationship with Olivia was one such. 

Fuck knew why she stayed with him. 

Fuck knew why she loved him so much. 

But she did. 

Irascible, sweary, a zen master at being a cunt. That was how he mostly saw himself. 

Yet nothing seemed to sway her. 

Sometimes he found little 'post it' notes in his suit pocket. 

_'Don't forget I love you today Malcolm Tucker.'_

He'd find them at odd times during the day. Especially when things were at their darkest, and he was wondering why he carried on. 

Just reading them would give him added strength. 

The more terrible the events that played out around them, the more she cleaved to his side. 

Inseparable. 

Home, to him wasn't necessarily a physical place. It was wherever he and Liv were together. 

Although having said that, from the moment she moved in with him he felt that sense of calm descending. The notion that she belonged.  
She changed his house from a place where he parked his bones each night, to a haven of warmth and comfort.  
It wasn't even that she did a great deal that was different to bring about this monumental alteration.  
Perhaps a vase of flowers on the table, or the pots she planted up in his little back courtyard. It might be the way she flung open the windows to let in the fresh air and sunlight, banishing the stale atmosphere that sometimes pervaded the rooms when he'd lived alone.  
Maybe it was the smell of the bedlinen when it was freshly laundered, or the aroma of baking coming from the kitchen. Or perhaps it was merely her presence. 

All these things came to mean more than anything he cared to quantify. 

The most important part of Malcolm's existence became his home and private life. Work paled into insignificance in contrast. 

It had not always been like this. 

Once, his job had been the life blood which flowed through his veins. All his efforts and energy were spent on it.  
Desperate to achieve, not for himself necessarily but for those to come after. 

Not any more. 

Old men plant trees who's shade they will never sit in.

He knew that now. It was a legacy he'd never be there to enjoy. 

He no longer liked to dwell on the past. Looking to the future was so much more worthwhile, and at least he felt he _had_ a future with Liv there. 

Just occasionally however, it came back to bite him on the arse. 

Now, was one such time. 

Sitting out in the dappled sunshine. 

Thinking.......

Malcolm Tucker wasn't a mystic. He didn't possess The Sight. 

But he knew from the moment the mental nurse Douglas Tickel committed suicide that he was fucked. 

The days of the Enquiry were a blur pretty much. 

He barely remembered what was said, either by him or by anyone else. Didn't want to. 

Sitting there each day, listening to the lies they told. Looking on as, one by one, they laid the blame firmly on him.  
Sam was there with him throughout.  
She would clasp his hand in hers and squeeze it tight. Whisper to him. 

"They are just cunts Malcolm." 

Perhaps she was right. Or perhaps he was the cunt he'd always thought himself to be. 

Either way, he was dispensable. Simple as that. It wasn't even necessarily personal. 

Someone needed to be held accountable for the culture of leaking and today it was his turn. 

When he took the Mastermind chair himself it was already over. 

His last heroic stand made Olivia cry. 

_"Let me tell you this. The whole planet's leaking, everybody is leaking! You know, everyone's spewing up their guts onto the internet, putting up their relationship status and photos of their vajazzles! We've come to a point where there are people, millions of people, who are quite happy to trade a kidney in order to go on television! And to show people their knickers, to show people their skid marks, and then complain to OK! magazine about a breach of privacy! The exchange of private information – that is what drives our economy. But, you come after me because you can't arrest a landmass, can you? You can't cuff a country. You might as well just go and – you can't lynch that guy there, can you? But you decide that you can sit there, you can judge and you can ogle me like a Page 3 girl. You don't like it? Well, you don't like yourself. You don't like your species, and you know what? Neither do I, but how dare you come and lay this at my door! How dare you blame me for this! Which is the result of a political class, which has given up on morality and simply pursues popularity at all costs. I am you and you are me."_

Mic drop. 

When he rose to leave, she stood beside him in solidarity. Holding his hand. 

Fuck them all. 

For Olivia it was a huge relief. Perhaps now they could finally move on together, leave it all behind. 

She couldn't have been more wrong. 

For a start they were under a cloud for several months while the Crown Prosecution Service decided if there was a case for Malcolm to answer.  
Turned out there wasn't.  
Not a fucking shred of real concrete evidence.  
Exonerated, if not entirely forgiven, by the police and the press. 

No, it wasn't only that. 

For Malcolm it was the beginning of a descent into the deepest depression. 

His career was over. He was fifty-two. 

How the fuck could he reinvent himself? 

If ever there would be a test of the strength of their relationship it was this. 

With the threat of a lifetime of inactivity and boredom hanging over his head, Malcolm faltered. 

He was sent stumbling and reeling into oblivion. 

Barely sleeping. Eating little. 

Developing an almost daily nausea which threatened to overwhelm him as his stomach rebelled. 

Liv knew he was on a path to self destruction, but throughout it all she was right there when he needed her most. She was also aware that he had to work it out for himself, get through it and out the other side. 

She did not nag or cajole. Never once did she threaten or shout. 

This was what Malcolm couldn't really get over. 

It was what he expected. 

He was sure that anyone else would react in that way. His ex wife certainly would have done so. 

That she would be angry with him, fed up with seeing him unshaven, vegged out on the couch in jog bottoms, be upset at his melancholic mood, his bad temper and his short fuse. His terse replies to her questions and his long silences. 

She didn't. 

Why did she not give up? 

Unable to fathom her continued apparent adoration of him, he frequently tried to push her away. 

Ashamed of his behaviour but unable to stop it. Wrapped in self pity and gloom. 

His words to her were sometimes biting. Acerbic and unkind.

Yet she seemed to rebound. 

If she cried, she cried alone. He never saw it. Didn't want to. 

Couldn't bear what he was doing to her. Hated himself for it. 

Slowly, however, he began to turn a corner. 

Her gentle patience rewarded. 

When he felt least like doing it, she would be able to get him out into the fresh air, to the park or away from the city.  
Subtle persuasion, telling him quietly that it was a lovely day. What could be nicer?  
Instead of moping indoors and being miserable. 

In that calm, serene way she had, she could tempt him to almost anything. 

A boat ride on the Thames. Lunch out at Teddington. A week in Scotland to see his sister and the children.  
Whilst there, she suggested a tramp in the hills, to the glen overlooking Loch Lomond.  
All this fucking communing with nature! He was a child of the city, he told her so! Grumpily! Give him traffic and buildings! Streets with sirens and hoards of people!

"Stop being an old curmudgeon, and look at that wonderful view." 

He looked. 

It _was_ wonderful. 

The sun was out. The water below them like a mirror. Reflecting the hills around. The breeze cool and refreshing.  
They walked miles. 

She fucking knackered him out! 

Slept like a log that night in her arms. 

Waking at first light, watching her sleeping peacefully next to him. 

Realising he was the luckiest fucker in the world......

.............

.........He cried often. 

In those early days. 

It pained him to think about it. 

Bereft for his former life. Mourning the demise of his working self. 

Until the day he reached his very lowest ebb, when, on waking one morning at 3am he decided he needed a drink. 

As had happened before, he'd planned it. 

Visited the Off Licence the day before. 

Leaving the bed as surreptitiously as he could, he padded silently downstairs. 

He was just finding a tumbler to pour himself the whiskey he'd carefully hidden from her, when he was aware of movement behind him. 

_"Malcolm?"_

Almost gave him a fucking heart attack. Creeping up on him like that! What the fuck did she think she was playing at? 

Did she rail at him, having caught him red handed? 

Did she lose her temper? Beg him not to do it? 

No. 

She moved closer to him. Her hands placed over his trembling ones as they held bottle and glass. 

"Is it really that bad?" She asked quietly. 

"Yes. It fucking is. I need it, okay? I just fucking need this now." 

"Okay." 

"Don't fucking try to stop me."

Her hands remained where they were. Laid over his, not with any force, but just.... _there_." 

"I'm not going to." 

His face changed, clouding.

"You're not?" 

"No. If your mind is made up. If it's what you want. Then it's up to you." 

There was no challenge. No hint of aggression. 

Still she did not move or relinquish her gentle grip. Her eyes locked with his. Watching all the emotions flit across his mien.  
Hurt. Anger. Betrayal. Misery. Defeat. Then, guilt and shame. 

All written there. 

He was fighting her. Fighting her without words or deeds. Silently. Defiant.  
Struggling against the open, placid look on her face. 

A look of such love that it was humbling. 

It was a war of attrition. Who would cave first. 

He wasn't sure if he wanted her to break down and cry, to say she loved him, beg him to stop, or if he wanted her to shout at him and tell him he was a bloody fool. 

She did neither. 

"Well. You'd better get on with it then. If it's what you need." She said softly. 

It was as if he were frozen by her touch. Unable to galvanise himself into action. 

His powerful resistance momentarily paused. 

He found his voice with effort. 

" _What?_ You're just gonna stand there? Watch me?" 

"Yes." 

Her reply seemed brutal in the extreme. She was prepared to stand quietly by and observe him as he defiled himself. 

"You....you _can't_." It was like she'd punched him in the stomach, and yet she remained perfectly still. Her hands laying in exactly the same position. 

"Why not?" 

"Because I don't fucking want you here. Fuck off and leave me alone." 

"But you're not alone Malcolm, are you? I'm here. Where would you have me go? Back upstairs? Out of your house? Out of your life altogether? What exactly are you asking me here?" 

A look of utter horror swept across his face. 

"No....I don't mean.....I just wanted......" He stammered. 

Her thumb was stroking across the back of his hand. A soft, tender movement. 

"You have choices before you, which only you can make. All _I_ can do is stand here and be with you. Unless you physically remove me, you can't send me away." 

His resolve was wavering. Each second that ticked by was a moment of reprieve. 

"Malcolm. The only way to know if you can trust someone......is to trust them. Do you trust me?" 

"I......yes......more than.....of course I do." 

"Okay. Then let's go and sit down. Let's talk about what you need most of all." 

As her fingers pulled away from him he felt the loss. It was a painful separation. When he compared it in his mind to the moment he loosened his grip on the glass and the bottle, he realised there was no comparison. 

Malcolm followed her dumbly. Led by the hand. Seated side by side on the couch in nothing but his underpants. 

He was suddenly cold. 

"So." She began. "Things you need. In order of priority. Item one?" 

Her eyebrows arched in question as she waited patiently for his thoughts to form. 

He swallowed thickly. His eyes swimming and brimming as she watched. 

"You." His voice was tiny. 

To his surprise she tutted, rolling her eyes. He wasn't getting away that easily. 

"Too simplistic. More specifics please. Not good enough." She rejoined with more acid strength in her tone. 

He seemed perplexed, fumbling for an answer. 

She waited. 

"You holding me. Your warmth. Your kiss. Friendship. Companionship. Being here. You loving me." 

He looked up hopefully, to see if his answer satisfied her and was the correct one. The one she wanted to hear. Her expression remained noncommittal.  
She was giving no clues. 

"Anything else?" 

"Your scent in my nostrils. Your long hair. The way you smile, you have dimples in your cheeks. The way you sing when you're cooking. Holding hands when we walk. When we are together. At anytime. Just knowing you are there. When we have sex and I feel like I'm going to die because I want you so badly......" 

The tears which had threatened fell silently as he spoke. 

"All the things you are to me.....that I can't live without. They come first." 

Liv's face was unreadable. Impassive. Still waiting. 

"What about all the other people who enrich your life.....where do they feature?" 

Malcolm began to think harder. Beyond Liv's sphere and out into the world. His brow furrowed with the effort. 

"Er. My sister. She's the only blood family I have. Her and her hubby and the kids. Those kids are so great. I love them." 

"Good." Her face softened subtly. It seemed that she'd got him really thinking, now his words found their mark. "Much better." 

Perhaps she'd let him off the hook now, he thought idly. One glance at her convinced him that more was required.  
He plundered his mind desperately. 

"Pat. He's been the staunchest of friends and allies. Helped me so many times. I need him." 

"Damn right." Was her only response. 

Malcolm's brain began to teem with thoughts. As if suddenly there were so many things he needed both mentally and physically. 

Christ! He was just a needy fucker! Wasn't he? 

"Sam. I need her. She's ma pal. Thick and thin. Never once let me down. Diamond girl she is." 

His expression now was almost pleading. What the fuck did she want from him? Blood? 

What else could he say? 

"Music!" He cried, clutching at straws. "Music makes me happy. I need music......" 

Liv remained silent, but her eyes were smiling imperceptibly. 

"Books. I love to read. I like learning stuff.....yeah....books would be in there....."

"......and food I guess. Especially yours. I'd die if I didn't eat. So I need that too. And clothes, and a hot shower or a bath. I'd say they were pretty essential." 

His head was hurting. Wasn't that enough now? Hadn't she made her point? 

"Money isn't the be all or end all, but without it I guess I'd be on the streets, so there's that.....I love this house.....and it's a proper home since you've been here......OUR home.....so I suppose that should go on the list." 

He stopped for a moment, then almost begged. His brow furrowed into a deep cleft, shivering as he sat there. 

"Fuck.....Liv. I'm floundering here! Help me out. How am I doing? I'm struggling to think....I don't know what you want from me....." 

To his surprise, she smiled. 

It was the warmest, most loving smile. Her hands travelled up his forearms, rubbing gently to warm them. Then further to his bony shoulders and his heaving chest, chasing away the goosebumps. 

"Look how many things you need." She said, her voice hushed. "How many things you _really_ need. There are more than a dozen things that come before booze. Look how far down the list it actually is. And I'm sure that if you thought harder, you'd come up with many many more......I can think of hundreds......do you see that now Malcolm?"

His face creased. Sobs came. He fell on her, burying his face against her breast. 

Stroking his hair, soothing. 

"Come back to bed Malcolm. Let me warm you, you're frozen." 

And he did. 

He was held. He was caressed. He was loved. _She_ made love to him. When he came he cried more, because he'd gone into her bare for the first time ever since they'd been together. Neither one even stopping to think or worry.  
On this occasion the closeness was needed. 

By them both. 

A much deeper, stronger connection. Something wholly new. More passionate. Somehow, being inside her on this night was even more meaningful than any previous encounter. 

_It was everything._

 

oOo

 

Olivia Williams sat on the edge of the bed. 

Partially dressed. Bra and knickers. 

Her excuse had been that she needed a shower. 

She didn't. 

Thoughts began to tumble. Popping into her head like a series of well remembered lines from a poem. 

She knew Malcolm was downstairs, she knew he had set himself up on a lounger in the garden shade, under the pretence of reading his book.  
She also knew he wasn't reading.  
He'd not turned a page for at least twenty minutes.  
Either thinking, or he'd nodded off. 

Inside, she smiled to herself. 

There had been a change in him. Only in the last few weeks. 

He was beginning to look to the future again. His future. Their future. Imagining it. 

His first instinct had been to run away. Escape, after it was all over. Hide. 

She refused.

They would damn well stay put and front the lot of them. 

Cunts.

Running away from problems never solved them in her experience, it just put them on hold, they still remained when you returned.  
Besides, she told him, you can't run away forever. At some point you have to return to your life. 

It sparked an entirely new way of thinking for him. 

Commencing by the making of copious notes. Memories, anecdotes, vignettes from his former existence. 

A seed had been planted in that buzzing, busy head of his. 

To write a book. A memoir. Putting it all out there. Cleansing, cathartic. 

A brand new beginning. 

Thank God! 

A sigh left her as she reminisced. 

What a traumatic year it had been! 

So much heartache and pain. 

For them both. 

The brief respite they'd earned when the letter from the CPS arrived, was short lived. 

Followed hard on its heels by an equally official letter detailing the up and coming court case brought by Wendy Draper against her ex husband. 

What transpired next was pure hell. 

For Liv at any rate. 

She'd never have got through it without Malcolm's support. 

Out of nowhere he became a giant. A colossus strong enough for them both. Able to hold himself up whilst being there for her, right by her side. 

All the hateful, painful memories that were dragged up. Brought back to the fore, when she'd hoped to bury them forever. 

Nightmares, tears. Dark days. 

Not once did he falter. 

Holding her throughout the deep watches of the night when she woke crying. Comforting her when the fear of the interviews or upcoming court proceedings overwhelmed her. 

If she leaned on him heavily during those weeks, then he was happy to return the favour. 

So many times she'd done the same for him. 

He knew darn well he'd be drinking regularly again without her strength and fortitude to bolster his reserve.

Quite simply, Malcolm owed her his life. A debt he was eager to repay. 

Being at home had its advantages he discovered. It was the one thing that made him realise that going off to work in an office each day was fine in its way, but had he still been at his old post, his presence for Liv would have been so much more difficult.  
There was no way he could have been there for her so much. 

As it was, he was with her all the time. Almost every moment. 

A hand to hold. A shoulder to cry on. Someone to love her, cherish her. Tell her how brave and strong she was and make her believe it. 

When her ex was acquitted and walked free she was devastated. 

As if all she went through was for nothing. 

How could a jury listen to the evidence presented and not think he'd done anything fundamentally wrong? 

Her ex hired a powerful defence lawyer, who, as predicted, ripped into Wendy as if she were no more than a gold digging fantasist and a liar.  
The judge an old fossil from the Jurassic age, a relic from the days when men were men and women were damn glad of it! 

Malcolm was so furious, to the point of incandescence. 

But the rage was pointless. He knew better than anyone how easily miscarriages of justice occurred. Everyone at the Enquiry lied, in fact Malcolm himself was actually the only one who told the truth. Yet it was he who suffered. The same happened to Wendy. She was not a credible witness, it was her word against that of another. There was really no other solid evidence to back her claims. They were summarily dismissed. 

It was over. No more to be done. 

Get on with their lives. Move forwards. Don't look back in anger. Every moment is precious, so don't waste a heartbeat! 

So many fucking cliches! 

 

It took time to begin to rebuild. 

Malcolm and Liv's relationship changed subtly as a result. 

More sure of each other than ever. A closer bond. 

It was one evening as they sat curled together after dinner, that she suddenly realised something, and told him so. 

"Malc?" 

"What is it darling?"

"Something occurred to me. You've given me the certainty......so that I'm now comfortable to be _uncertain_ sometimes. Did you know that?" 

The hand that was idly stroking her hair stopped abruptly. He sat forward. 

"I've realised something too." 

"Oh?"

"You and me. We could be anywhere, or nowhere......but I'd rather be nowhere, as long as you're there, than somewhere, and by myself. It doesn't matter anymore. All the stuff. Whatever life throws at us. There's just us. It's all I fucking care about." 

........

Liv found that she was crying at the recollection. 

When did that happen? 

Her thoughts had come full circle. Now, she was back in the bedroom. 

Sitting on the edge of the mattress in her underwear. 

Tears on her face. 

There had been several times in the last few months when they'd climbed or fallen into this bed together.  
When the love they'd shared was so much more intense. More visceral.  
Desperate to be joined to one another, to be as one, to hold on to the sensation as long as possible. 

The sensual delight of skin on skin. The things he whispered breathlessly to her as they made love, and how completely loved they made her feel. 

How different he felt inside her, unsheathed, and how much she craved it. 

It was as if some madness had possessed them both. At once thrilling and dangerous. 

No actual discussion had taken place, no mutual agreement reached. 

It was just the way it was. 

After all they'd been through it simply seemed..... _right_. 

When had they become so reckless? And why? 

When had they ceased to care about the possible consequences? 

Sacrificing caution over excitement or pure desire? 

Liv suspected it was because somehow, deep down, Malcolm didn't believe it would or could happen. 

Perhaps he didn't dare. Kathy had let slip that it was something Malcolm always wanted deep down. 

She smiled wistfully to herself. 

Her hand stroked lovingly across her bare belly. 

Wanting something so badly didn't necessarily mean you were going to get it. Subconsciously it had probably always been her dearest wish too, it was why she married, it was her dream, but not one she'd ever put voice to. Particularly not to Malcolm. 

They'd never ever discussed it. Perhaps she didn't believe it possible either. 

Who knew? 

Right at this moment she was so deliriously happy she could barely contain it. 

It was like a well spring bubbling inside her, bursting to be let out. 

Up until now she had not been sure. For the last couple of weeks it was only the merest inkling. A feeling, a distant hope. Today she had finally plucked up the courage to stop speculating and try to confirm her suspicions properly. 

Butterflies in her stomach. Almost too afraid to know the truth. A thrill running through her, making her heart beat harder as the adrenaline flowed. 

Now she knew. 

Thinking of him, dozing in the garden downstairs. Blissfully unaware of the raft of emotions unfolding a mere few yards away. 

Remembering the moment they met. The DoSaC party where he bought her a drink. Their first hug, the first time their hands met and clasped. All flooding back.  
The way their love had grown so gradually, from friendship to a deep and lasting bond.  
Closing her eyes, recalling that initial kiss which was forever imprinted on her memory. 

They often talked about the first time they slept together, how nervous they'd been, so different from sleeping with him now. 

Taking a deep breath in, letting it go slowly. Steadying herself. Decision made. 

A little scared, yet anxious to hear and see his response. 

Reaching for his robe, she hurriedly donned it, tying the belt around her middle. 

Almost skipping downstairs, through the living room and out into the little sun trap that was his garden. 

As she'd suspected, he was dozing. Nodding gently, his mouth slightly open.  
The unread book slipped from his grasp. 

Bending over him she placed a kiss on the tip of his nose. Only to watch it crinkle pleasingly as he opened his eyes languidly and broke into a smile. 

"Hi sweetheart." 

She didn't respond verbally.

Instead she sat herself sideways across his lap. Her legs dangling over the arm rest. He was taken by surprise, his arms held away from his body in a gesture of shock and surrender. 

"What the f.....?" He began, laughing nervously. 

But her face was enigmatic, and his mirth soon faded. 

Reaching for her waist tie she slowly, coquettishly, loosened it. Opening the dressing gown, exposing herself to his gaze. Watching his face change as her lacy underwear was revealed. 

"Fuck....Liv......what? Here?" He blushed so prettily she almost laughed, but managed to keep her face straight.

Giving a little negative shake of her head.

"What then?" His face clouded with dumb confusion. 

Taking his left hand in hers, she lifted it, bringing it over, placing it on her tummy just below the belly button. Pressing it against her.  
She held it there firmly, captured beneath both of her own.

Locking his gaze with hers. A questioning expression, looking at him intently. 

No words. Waiting patiently.

The warmth from his large palm made her bare skin tingle. 

At first he seemed perplexed, his eyes searching hers for some meaning. Glancing first at their hands, then back to her face. Flitting back and forth, first to one, then the other. Trying to understand. 

A little reassuring smile from her, as his brain started to process and realisation began to dawn. 

She saw the puzzled look gradually clear. His eyes softening, watering, then boring into hers, as his eyebrows danced in mute question. He swallowed, becoming pale and flustered. Shaking his head in disbelief.

 _"Really?"_ He whispered, when he could find the courage to speak. 

Nodding, she bit her lip. Holding in the sudden urge to cry. 

"Oh _fuck_! Liv!" He breathed, hauling her into him and holding her close. Breathing hard, eyes shut tight. For several seconds she was crushed to him. Trying to control her own rapid breaths. 

Pulling back, she cupped his face with both hands. 

"I thought I might be, but I wasn't sure, I was afraid to tell you too soon and build your hopes up. Are you pleased?" She asked gently. 

"What do you fucking think?" He couldn't keep the tremble from his voice. Could not force down the overwhelming feeling of love and gratitude that flowed through him. 

"This is the _best_ news."

A puff of relief. 

"I love you Malcolm." She said, smiling. "I've been so happy with you and this is the icing on the cake." 

"You're sure? And it's what you want?" Suddenly he was almost weeping. 

"Oh, Malcolm......it's what I hoped for.....to have your child one day....but I just didn't dare think about it."

His smile was so warm. 

"Me neither." He admitted. "Fuck me, but I love you....so much. This is just fucking amazing. _You_ are amazing." 

He kissed her with passion. 

"I think this calls for a celebratory cup of tea." He said, his eyes glistening. 

"Christ! Imagine! I'm gonna be a father! At my age! My sister will fucking wet herself when I tell her!" 

They laughed together, his arms threaded around her, their foreheads touching. 

"You know what?" He breathed. 

"What?" 

"I almost didn't buy you that drink at the DoSaC party. What if I hadn't? I'd be a sad lonely cunt in a filthy bedsit somewhere, or in and out of rehab, or worse......fuck it Liv, I almost walked away. Thank fucking Christ I didn't!" 

"Well I'm glad you didn't too. Where on earth would I be without you?" 

Malcolm chuckled. Tickling her ribs.

"Well, you wouldn't be up the duff for a start!" 

 

Fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm presently writing a one shot which follows on from this story, it is set more or less in the present day, so five years on from 2012 when series four was aired. 
> 
> It will be a piece in which Malcolm is being interviewed. About his life, his past and his future. There will be a bit of political stuff and a lot of Malcolm's opinions! 
> 
> No title yet but I'll post it as soon as it's ready! So look out for it. 
> 
> Thank you to all those who have commented and messaged and left kudos for me. You are all very kind and your encouragement keeps me going. Xxxx


End file.
